UC-N 


Rudyard  Klplin 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


15 


The  Day's  Work 


Drawn  by  W.  D.  Stevens. 


He  took  the  eighty-foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail 
like  a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence." 


The  Day's  Work 


By  Rudyard  Kipling 


Author  of"  Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills,' 
"  The  Seven  Seas,"  «  The 
Jungle  Books,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
DOUBLEDAY  &  McCLURE  CO, 

1898 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1894,  1895,  1896,  1897,  1898, 
BY   RUDYARD   KIPLING 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 3 

A  WALKING  DELEGATE 51 

THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF    .        .        .        *        .  83 
THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS         .        .        .        ; .'      .109 

THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA      .        .        *        ,        .  157 

WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR       .        .       •       •       •       .  193 

.007     .       .    ''^-^iV- ..'  I  •.•;.•  ...    v     ..  •   •      •  243 

THE  MALTESE  CAT    .        .        ..«.••        .        .        .  269 

"BREAD    UPON    THE    WATERS  " 299 

AN  ERROR  IN  THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION  .        .        .        .   337 

My  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 363 

THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 385 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

"  He  took  ":he  eighty-foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail 
like  a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence."  Drawn 
by  W.  D.  Stevens Frontispiece 

"  An  unusually  severe  pitch  .  .  .  had  lifted  the  big 
throbbing  screw  nearly  to  the  surface."  Drawn 
by  W.  Louis  Sonntag,  Jr 88 

"One  climbed  into  a  tree,  and  stuck  the  letter  into  a 
cleft  forty  feet  from  the  ground."  Drawn  by 
E.  L.  Blumenschein 144 

"  Lazily  as  a  gorged  snake,  he  dragged  himself  out  of 
the  cave."  Drawn  by  E.  L.  Blumenschein  .  .  150 

«« Rolling  cigarettes  for  her  brother."  Drawn  by 
W.  L.  Taylor 200 

"Walking  slowly  at  the  head  of  his  flocks."  Drawn 
by  W.  L.  Taylor 218 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGB 

"'When    d'ye    ship    a    new    tail-shaft?'    I    said    to 

Bannister" 312 

"  'It  was  perishin'  cold,  but  I  'd  done  my  job  judg- 
matically,  an*  came  scrapin'  all  along  her  side  slap 
on  to  the  lower  gratin'  o'  the  gangway.'  "  Drawn 
by  W.  Louis  Sonntag,  Jr 324 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 


THE  BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

THE  least  that  Findlayson,  of  the  Public  Works  De 
partment,  expected  was  a  C.  I.  E. ;  he  dreamed  of 
a  0.  S.  I. :  indeed,  his  friends  told  him  that  he  deserved 
more.  For  three  years  he  had  endured  heat  and  cold, 
disappointment,  discomfort,  danger,  and  disease,  with 
responsibility  almost  too  heavy  for  one  pair  of  shoulders ; 
and  day  by  day,  through  that  time,  the  great  Kashi 
Bridge  over  the  Ganges  had  grown  under  his  charge. 
Now,  in  less  than  three  months,  if  all  went  well,  his 
Excellency  the  Viceroy  would  open  the  bridge  in  state, 
an  archbishop  would  bless  it,  and  the  first  trainload 
of  soldiers  would  come  over  it,  and  there  would  be 
speeches. 

Findlayson,  C.  E. ,  sat  in  his  trolley  on  a  construction 
line  that  ran  along  one  of  the  main  revetments— the  huge 
stone-faced  banks  that  flared  away  north  and  south  for 
three  miles  on  either  side  of  the  river— and  permitted 
himself  to  think  of  the  end.  With  its  approaches,  his  work 
was  one  mile  and  three-quarters  in  length ;  a  lattice-girder 
bridge,  trussed  with  the  Findlayson  truss,  standing  on 
seven-and-twenty  brick  piers.  Each  one  of  those  piers 

[3] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

was  twenty-four  feet  in  diameter,  capped  with  red  Agra 
stone  and  sunk  eighty  feet  below  the  shifting  sand  of  the 
Ganges'  bed.  Above  them  was  a  railway-line  fifteen  feet 
broad;  above  that,  again,  a  cart-road  of  eighteen  feet, 
flanked  with  footpaths.  At  either  end  rose  towers,  of  red 
brick,  loopholed  for  musketry  and  pierced  for  big  guns, 
and  the  ramp  of  the  road  was  being  pushed  forward  to 
their  haunches.  The  raw  earth-ends  were  crawling  and 
alive  with  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  tiny  asses  climb 
ing  out  of  the  yawning  borrow-pit  below  with  sackfuls 
of  stuff;  and  the  hot  afternoon  air  was  filled  with  the 
noise  of  hooves,  the  rattle  of  the  drivers'  sticks,  and  the 
swish  and  roll-down  of  the  dirt.  The  river  was  very 
low,  and  on  the  dazzling  white  sand  between  the  three 
centre  piers  stood  squat  cribs  of  railway-sleepers,  filled 
within  and  daubed  without  with  mud,  to  support  the  last 
of  the  girders  as  those  were  riveted  up.  In  the  little 
deep  water  left  by  the  drought,  an  overhead-crane  trav 
elled  to  and  fro  along  its  spile-pier,  jerking  sections  of 
iron  into  place,  snorting  and  backing  and  grunting  as 
an  elephant  grunts  in  the  timber-yard.  Riveters  by  the 
hundred  swarmed  about  the  lattice  side- work  and  the 
iron  roof  of  the  railway-line,  hung  from  invisible  stag 
ing  under  the  bellies  of  the  girders,  clustered  round  the 
throats  of  the  piers,  and  rode  on  the  overhang  of  the 
footpath-stanchions;  their  fire-pots  and  the  spurts  of 
flame  that  answered  each  hammer-stroke  showing  no 
more  than  pale  yellow  in  the  sun's  glare.  East  and 
west  and  north  and  south  the  construction-trains  rattled 
and  shrieked  up  and  down  the  embankments,  the  piled 
trucks  of  brown  and  white  stone  banging  behind  them 

[4] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

till  the  side-boards  were  unpinned,  and  with  a  roar 
and  a  grumble  a  few  thousand  tons  more  material  were 
flung  out  to  hold  the  river  in  place. 

Findlayson,  C.  E.,  turned  on  his  trolley  and  looked 
over  the  face  of  the  country  that  he  had  changed  for 
seven  miles  around.  Looked  back  on  the  humming  vil 
lage  of  five  thousand  workmen;  up  stream  and  down, 
along  the  vista  of  spurs  and  sand;  across  the  river  to  the 
far  piers,  lessening  in  the  haze;  overhead  to  the  guard- 
towers— and  only  he  knew  how  strong  those  were — and 
with  a  sigh  of  contentment  saw  that  his  work  was  good. 
There  stood  his  bridge  before  him  in  the  sunlight,  lack 
ing  only  a  few  weeks'  work  on  the  girders  of  the  three 
middle  piers— his  bridge,  raw  and  ugly  as  original  sin, 
but  pukka— permanent— to  endure  when  all  memory  of 
the  builder,  yea,  even  of  the  splendid  Findlayson  truss, 
had  perished.  Practically,  the  thing  was  done. 

Hitchcock,  his  assistant,  cantered  along  the  line  on  a 
little  switch-tailed  Kabuli  pony  who  through  long  prac 
tice  could  have  trotted  securely  over  a  trestle,  and 
nodded  to  his  chief. 

"  All  but,"  said  he,  with  a  smile. 

"I  've  been  thinking  about  it,"  the  senior  answered. 
"  '  Not  half  a  bad  job  for  two  men,  is  it?  " 

"  One— and  a  half.  'Gad,  what  a  Cooper's  Hill  cub  I 
was  when  I  came  on  the  works ! ' '  Hitchcock  felt  very 
old  in  the  crowded  experiences  of  the  past  three  years, 
that  had  taught  him  power  and  responsibility. 

1  *  You  were  rather  a  colt, ' '  said  Findlayson.  *  *  I  won 
der  how  you  '11  like  going  back  to  office-work  when  this 
job  's  over." 

[5] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  I  shall  hate  it ! "  said  the  young  man,  and  as  he 
went  on  his  eye  followed  Findlayson's,  and  he  muttered, 
"  Is  n't  it  damned  good?  " 

u  I  think  we  '11  go  up  the  service  together,"  Findlay- 
son  said  to  himself.  "  You  're  too  good  a  youngster  to 
waste  on  another  man.  Cub  thou  wast ;  assistant  thou 
art.  Personal  assistant,  and  at  Simla,  thou  shalt  be,  if 
any  credit  comes  to  me  out  of  the  business ! ' ' 

Indeed,  the  burden  of  the  work  had  fallen  altogether 
on  Findlayson  and  his  assistant,  the  young  man  whom 
he  had  chosen  because  of  his  rawness  to  break  to  his 
own  needs.  There  were  labour  contractors  by  the  half- 
hundred— fitters  and  riveters,  European,  borrowed  from 
the  railway  workshops,  with,  perhaps,  twenty  white  and 
half-caste  subordinates  to  direct,  under  direction,  the 
bevies  of  workmen— but  none  knew  better  than  these 
two,  who  trusted  each  other,  how  the  underlings  were 
not  to  be  trusted.  They  had  been  tried  many  times  in 
sudden  crises— by  slipping  of  booms,  by  breaking  of 
tackle,  failure  of  cranes,  and  the  wrath  of  the  river— 
but  no  stress  had  brought  to  light  any  man  among  men 
whom  Findlayson  and  Hitchcock  would  have  honoured 
by  working  as  remorselessly  as  they  worked  themselves. 
Findlayson  thought  it  over  from  the  beginning:  the 
months  of  office- work  destroyed  at  a  blow  when  the 
Government  of  India,  at  the  last  moment,  added  two 
feet  to  the  width  of  the  bridge,  under  the  impression  that 
bridges  were  cut  out  of  paper,  and  so  brought  to  ruin  at 
least  half  an  acre  of  calculations— and  Hitchcock,  new  to 
disappointment,  buried  his  head  in  his  arms  and  wept ; 
the  heart-breaking  delays  over  the  filling  of  the  contracts 

[6] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

in  England ;  the  futile  correspondences  hinting  at  great 
wealth  of  commissions  if  one,  only  one,  rather  doubtful 
consignment  were  passed;  the  war  that  followed  the 
refusal ;  the  careful,  polite  obstruction  at  the  other  end 
that  followed  the  war,  till  young  Hitchcock,  putting  one 
month's  leave  to  another  month,  and  borrowing  ten  days 
from  Findlayson,  spent  his  poor  little  savings  of  a  year 
in  a  wild  dash  to  London,  and  there,  as  his  own  tongue  as 
serted  and  the  later  consignments  proved,  put  the  fear  of 
God  into  a  man  so  great  that  he  feared  only  Parliament 
and  said  so  till  Hitchcock  wrought  with  him  across  his 
own  dinner-table,  and— he  feared  the  Kashi  Bridge  and 
all  who  spoke  in  its  name.  Then  there  was  the  cholera 
that  came  in  the  night  to  the  village  by  the  bridge  works; 
and  after  the  cholera  smote  the  small-pox.  The  fever  they 
had  always  with  them.  Hitchcock  had  been  appointed 
a  magistrate  of  the  third  class  with  whipping  powers, 
for  the  better  government  of  the  community,  and  Find 
layson  watched  him  wield  his  powers  temperately,  learn 
ing  what  to  overlook  and  what  to  look  after.  It  was  a 
long,  long  reverie,  and  it  covered  storm,  sudden  freshets, 
death  in  every  manner  and  shape,  violent  and  awful  rage 
against  red  tape  half  frenzying  a  mind  that  knows  it 
should  be  busy  on  other  things;  drought,  sanitation, 
finance;  birth,  wedding,  burial,  and  riot  in  the  village 
of  twenty  warring  castes;  argument,  expostulation, 
persuasion,  and  the  blank  despair  that  a  man  goes  to 
bed  upon,  thankful  that  his  rifle  is  all  in  pieces  in  the 
gun-case.  Behind  everything  rose  the  black  frame  of 
the  Kashi  Bridge— plate  by  plate,  girder  by  girder, 
span  by  span— and  each  pier  of  it  recalled  Hitchcock, 

[7] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

the  all-round  man,  who  had  stood  by  his  chief  without 
failing  from  the  very  first  to  this  last. 

So  the  bridge  was  two  men's  work— unless  one  counted 
Peroo,  as  Peroo  certainly  counted  himself.  He  was  a 
Lascar,  a  Kharva  from  Bulsar,  familiar  with  every  port 
between  Rockhampton  and  London,  who  had  risen  to  the 
rank  of  serang  on  the  British  India  boats,  but  wearying 
of  routine  musters  and  clean  clothes,  had  thrown  up 
the  service  and  gone  inland,  where  men  of  his  calibre 
were  sure  of  employment.  For  his  knowledge  of  tackle 
and  the  handling  of  heavy  weights,  Peroo  was  worth 
almost  any  price  he  might  have  chosen  to  put  upon  his 
services;  but  custom  decreed  the  wage  of  the  overhead- 
men,  and  Peroo  was  not  within  many  silver  pieces  of 
his  proper  value.  Neither  running  water  nor  extreme 
heights  made  him  afraid ;  and,  as  an  ex-serang,  he  knew 
how  to  hold  authority.  No  piece  of  iron  was  so  big  or 
so  badly  placed  that  Peroo  could  not  devise  a  tackle  to 
lift  it— a  loose- ended,  sagging  arrangement,  rigged  with 
a  scandalous  amount  of  talking,  but  perfectly  equal  to 
the  work  in  hand.  It  was  Peroo  who  had  saved  the 
girder  of  Number  Seven  pier  from  destruction  when  the 
new  wire  rope  jammed  in  the  eye  of  the  crane,  and  the 
huge  plate  tilted  in  its  slings,  threatening  to  slide  out 
sideways.  Then  the  native  workmen  lost  their  heads 
with  great  shoutings,  and  Hitchcock's  right  arm  was 
broken  by  a  falling  T-plate,  and  he  buttoned  it  up  in  his 
coat  and  swooned,  and  came  to  and  directed  for  four 
hours  till  Peroo,  from  the  top  of  the  crane,  reported 
"  All  's  well,"  and  the  plate  swung  home.  There  was 
no  one  like  Peroo,  serang,  to  lash,  and  guy,  and  hold,  to 

[8] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

control  the  donkey-engines,  to  hoist  a  fallen  locomotive 
craftily  out  of  the  borrow-pit  into  which  it  had  tumbled ; 
to  strip,  and  dive,  if  need  be,  to  see  how  the  concrete 
blocks  round  the  piers  stood  the  scouring  of  Mother 
Gunga,  or  to  adventure  up-stream  on  a  monsoon  night 
and  report  on  the  state  of  the  embankment-facings. 
He  would  interrupt  the  field-councils  of  Findlayson 
and  Hitchcock  without  fear,  till  his  wonderful  English, 
or  his  still  more  wonderful  lingua- franca,  half  Portu 
guese  and  half  Malay,  ran  out  and  he  was  forced  to 
take  string  and  show  the  knots  that  he  would  recom 
mend.  He  controlled  his  own  gang  of  tacklemen— mys 
terious  relatives  from  Kutch  Mandvi  gathered  month  by 
month  and  tried  to  the  uttermost.  No  consideration  of 
family  or  kin  allowed  Peroo  to  keep  weak  hands  or  a 
giddy  head  on  the  pay-roll.  "  My  honour  is  the  honour 
of  this  bridge,"  he  would  say  to  the  about-to-be-dis 
missed.  "  What  do  I  care  for  your  honour?  Go  and 
work  on  a  steamer.  That  is  all  you  are  fit  for. ' ' 

The  little  cluster  of  huts  where  he  and  his  gang  lived 
centred  round  the  tattered  dwelling  of  a  sea-priest—one 
who  had  never  set  foot  on  black  water,  but  had  been 
chosen  as  ghostly  counsellor  by  two  generations  of  sea- 
rovers  all  unaffected  by  port  missions  or  those  creeds 
which  are  thrust  upon  sailors  by  agencies  along  Thames 
bank.  The  priest  of  the  Lascars  had  nothing  to  do  with 
their  caste,  or  indeed  with  anything  at  all.  He  ate  the 
offerings  of  his  church,  and  slept  and  smoked,  and  slept 
again,  "  for,"  said  Peroo,  who  had  haled  him  a  thousand 
miles  inland,  "  he  is  a  very  holy  man.  He  never  cares 
what  you  eat  so  long  as  you  do  not  eat  beef,  and  that  is 

[9] 


THE   BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

good,  because  on  land  we  worship  Shiva,  we  Kharvas; 
but  at  sea  on  the  Kumpani's  boats  we  attend  strictly  to 
the  orders  of  the  Burra  Malum  [the  first  mate],  and  on 
this  bridge  we  observe  what  Finlinson  Sahib  says." 

Finlinson  Sahib  had  that  day  given  orders  to  clear  the 
scaffolding  from  the  guard-tower  on  the  right  bank,  and 
Peroo  with  his  mates  was  casting  loose  and  lowering 
down  the  bamboo  poles  and  planks  as  swiftly  as  ever 
they  had  whipped  the  cargo  out  of  a  coaster. 

From  his  trolley  he  could  hear  the  whistle  of  the 
serang's  silver  pipe  and  the  creak  and  clatter  of  the 
pulleys.  Peroo  was  standing  on  the  topmost  coping  of 
the  tower,  clad  in  the  blue  dungaree  of  his  abandoned 
service,  and  as  Findlayson  motioned  to  him  to  be  care 
ful,  for  his  was  no  life  to  throw  away,  he  gripped  the  last 
pole,  and,  shading  his  eyes  ship-fashion,  answered  with 
the  long-drawn  wail  of  the  fo'c'sle  lookout:  "Ham 
dekhta  hai  "  ("I  am  looking  out ") .  Findlayson  laughed 
and  then  sighed.  It  was  years  since  he  had  seen  a 
steamer,  and  he  was  sick  for  home.  As  his  trolley  passed 
under  the  tower,  Peroo  descended  by  a  rope,  ape-fash 
ion,  and  cried:  u  It  looks  well  now,  Sahib.  Our  bridge 
is  all  but  done.  What  think  you  Mother  Gunga  will 
say  when  the  rail  runs  over?  " 

"  She  has  said  little  so  far.  It  was  never  Mother 
Gunga  that  delayed  us." 

"  There  is  always  time  for  her;  and  none  the  less 
there  has  been  delay.  Has  the  Sahib  forgotten  last  au 
tumn's  flood,  when  the  stone-boats  were  sunk  without 
warning— or  only  a  half -day's  warning?  " 

"  Yes,  but  nothing  save  a  big  flood  could  hurt  us  now. 
The  spurs  are  holding  well  on  the  west  bank." 

no] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

*  *  Mother  Gunga  eats  great  allowances.  There  is  always 
room  for  more  stone  on  the  revetments.  I  tell  this 
to  the  Chota  Sahib"— he  meant  Hitchcock— "  and  he 
laughs." 

"  No  matter,  Peroo.  Another  year  thou  wilt  be  able 
to  build  a  bridge  in  thine  own  fashion.'' 

The  Lascar  grinned.  "  Then  it  will  not  be  in  this 
way— with  stonework  sunk  under  water,  as  the  Quetta 
was  sunk.  I  like  sus-sus-pen-sheen  bridges  that  fly  from 
bank  to  bank,  with  one  big  step,  like  a  gang-plank.  Then 
no  water  can  hurt.  When  does  the  Lord  Sahib  come  to 
open  the  bridge? " 

"  In  three  months,  when  the  weather  is  cooler." 

"  Ho!  ho!  He  is  like  the  Burra  Malum.  He  sleeps 
below  while  the  work  is  being  done.  Then  he  comes 
upon  the  quarter-deck  and  touches  with  his  finger,  and 
says:  *  This  is  not  clean!  Dam  jibboonwallah ! '  " 

"  But  the  Lord  Sahib  does  not  call  me  a  dam  jibboon 
wallah,  Peroo." 

* '  No,  Sahib ;  but  he  does  not  come  on  deck  till  the  work 
is  all  finished.  Even  the  Burra  Malum  of  the  Nerbudda 
said  once  at  Tuticorin— " 

"Bah!     Go!    I  am  busy." 

'  *  I,  also ! ' '  said  Peroo,  with  an  unshaken  countenance. 
"  May  I  take  the  light  dinghy  now  and  row  along  the 
spurs?" 

"  To  hold  them  with  thy  hands?  They  are,  I  think, 
sufficiently  heavy. ' ' 

1 '  Nay,  Sahib.  It  is  thus.  At  sea,  on  the  Black  Water, 
we  have  room  to  be  blown  up  and  down  without  care. 
Here  we  have  no  room  at  all.  Look  you,  we  have  put 
the  river  into  a  dock,  and  run  her  between  stone  sills. " 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Findlayson  smiled  at  the  "  we." 

*'  We  have  bitted  and  bridled  her.  She  is  not  like  the 
sea,  that  can  beat  against  a  soft  beach.  She  is  Mother 
Gunga— in  irons."  His  voice  fell  a  little. 

"  Peroo,  thou  hast  been  up  and  down  the  world  more 
even  than  I.  Speak  true  talk,  now.  How  much  dost 
thou  in  thy  heart  believe  of  Mother  Gunga? " 

"All  that  our  priest  says.  London  is  London,  Sahib. 
Sydney  is  Sydney,  and  Port  Darwin  is  Port  Darwin. 
Also  Mother  Gunga  is  Mother  Gunga,  and  when  I  come 
back  to  her  banks  I  know  this  and  worship.  In  London 
I  did  poojah  to  the  big  temple  by  the  river  for  the 
sake  of  the  God  within.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  will  not  take  the 
cushions  in  the  dinghy." 

Findlayson  mounted  his  horse  and  trotted  to  the  shed 
of  a  bungalow  that  he  shared  with  his  assistant.  The 
place  had  become  home  to  him  in  the  last  three  years. 
He  had  grilled  in  the  heat,  sweated  in  the  rains,  and 
shivered  with  fever  under  the  rude  thatch  roof;  the 
lime- wash  beside  the  door  was  covered  with  rough  draw 
ings  and  formulse,  and  the  sentry-path  trodden  in  the 
matting  of  the  verandah  showed  where  he  had  walked 
alone.  There  is  no  eight-hour  limit  to  an  engineer's 
work,  and  the  evening  meal  with  Hitchcock  was  eaten 
booted  and  spurred :  over  their  cigars  they  listened  to 
the  hum  of  the  village  as  the  gangs  came  up  from  the 
river-bed  and  the  lights  began  to  twinkle. 

"  Peroo  has  gone  up  the  spurs  in  your  dinghy.  He  's 
taken  a  couple  of  nephews  with  him,  and  he  's  lolling 
in  the  stern  like  a  commodore,"  said  Hitchcock. 

"  That 's  all  right.  He  's  got  something  on  his  mind. 
[12] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

You  'd  think  that  ten  years  in  the  British  India  boats 
would  have  knocked  most  of  his  religion  out  of  him." 

"  So  it  has, ' '  said  Hitchcock,  chuckling.  * '  I  overheard 
him  the  other  day  in  the  middle  of  a  most  atheistical 
talk  with  that  fat  old  guru  of  theirs.  Peroo  denied  the 
efficacy  of  prayer;  and  wanted  the  guru  to  go  to  sea 
and  watch  a  gale  out  with  him,  and  see  if  he  could 
stop  a  monsoon." 

"All  the  same,  if  you  carried  off  his  guru  he  'd  leave 
us  like  a  shot.  He  was  yarning  away  to  me  about  pray 
ing  to  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  when  he  was  in  London." 

"  He  told  me  that  the  first  time  he  went  into  the 
engine-room  of  a  steamer,  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  prayed 
to  the  low-pressure  cylinder. ' ' 

"  Not  half  a  bad  thing  to  pray  to,  either.  He  's  pro 
pitiating  his  own  Gods  now,  and  he  wants  to  know  what 
Mother  Gunga  will  think  of  a  bridge  being  run  across 
her.  Who  's  there? ' '  A  shadow  darkened  the  doorway, 
and  a  telegram  was  put  into  Hitchcock's  hand. 

' '  She  ought  to  be  pretty  well  used  to  it  by  this  time. 
Only  a  tar.  It  ought  to  be  Ralli's  answer  about  the  new 
rivets.  .  .  .  Great  Heavens!"  Hitchcock  jumped  to 
his  feet. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  senior,  and  took  the  form. 
"  That  's  what  Mother  Gunga  thinks,  is  it,"  he  said, 
reading.  "  Keep  cool,  young  'un.  We  've  got  all  our 
work  cut  out  for  us.  Let  's  see.  Muir  wired  half  an 
hour  ago:  l Floods  on  the  Ramgunga.  Lookout.''  Well, 
that  gives  us— one,  two— nine  and  a  half  for  the  flood 
to  reach  Melipur  Ghaut  and  seven  's  sixteen  and  a  half 
to  Lataoli— say  fifteen  hours  before  it  comes  down  to  us. ' : 
[13] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"Curse  that  hill- fed  sewer  of  a  Ramgunga!  Find 
layson,  this  is  two  months  before  anything  could  have 
been  expected,  and  the  left  bank  is  littered  up  with  stuff 
still.  Two  full  months  before  the  time!  " 

' '  That 's  why  it  comes.  I '  ve  only  known  Indian  rivers 
for  five-and-twenty  years,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  under 
stand.  Here  comes  another  tor."  Findlayson  opened 
the  telegram.  "  Cockran,  this  time,  from  the  Ganges 
Canal:  ''Heavy  rains  here.  Bad."1  He  might  have  saved 
the  last  word.  Well,  we  don't  want  to  know  any  more. 
We  've  got  to  work  the  gangs  all  night  and  clean  up  the 
river-bed.  You  '11  take  the  east  bank  and  work  out  to 
meet  me  in  the  middle.  Get  every  thing  that  floats 
below  the  bridge:  we  shall  have  quite  enough  river- 
craft  coming  down  adrift  anyhow,  without  letting  the 
stone-boats  ram  the  piers.  What  have  you  got  on  the 
east  bank  that  needs  looking  after?  " 

* '  Pontoon— one  big  pontoon  with  the  overhead  crane  on 
it.  T'  other  overhead  crane  on  the  mended  pontoon,  with 
the  cart-road  rivets  from  Twenty  to  Twenty-three  piers— 
two  construction  lines,  and  a  turning-spur.  The  pile- 
work  must  take  its  chance,"  said  Hitchcock. 

"  All  right.  Roll  up  everything  you  can  lay  hands 
on.  We  '11  give  the  gang  fifteen  minutes  more  to  eat 
their  grub." 

Close  to  the  verandah  stood  a  big  night-gong,  never 
used  except  for  flood,  or  fire  in  the  village.  Hitchcock 
had  called  for  a  fresh  horse,  and  was  off  to  his  side  of  the 
bridge  when  Findlayson  took  the  cloth-bound  stick  and 
smote  with  the  rubbing  stroke  that  brings  out  the  full 
thunder  of  the  metal. 

[14] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Long  before  the  last  rumble  ceased  every  night-gong 
in  the  village  had  taken  up  the  warning.  To  these  were 
added  the  hoarse  screaming  of  conches  in  the  little 
temples;  the  throbbing  of  drums  and  tom-toms;  and, 
from  the  European  quarters,  where  the  riveters  lived, 
McCartney's  bugle,  a  weapon  of  offence  on  Sundays  and 
festivals,  brayed  desperately,  calling  to  "  Stables."  En 
gine  after  engine  toiling  home  along  the  spurs  at  the  end 
of  her  day's  work  whistled  in  answer  till  the  whistles 
were  answered  from  the  far  bank.  Then  the  big  gong 
thundered  thrice  for  a  sign  that  it  was  flood  and  not  fire ; 
conch,  drum,  and  whistle  echoed  the  call,  and  the  vil 
lage  quivered  to  the  sound  of  bare  feet  running  upon 
soft  earth.  The  order  in  all  cases  was  to  stand  by  the 
day's  work  and  wait  instructions.  The  gangs  poured  by 
in  the  dusk ;  men  stopping  to  knot  a  loin-cloth  or  fasten 
a  sandal;  gang-foremen  shouting  to  their  subordinates 
as  they  ran  or  paused  by  the  tool-issue  sheds  for  bars 
and  mattocks;  locomotives  creeping  down  their  tracks 
wheel-deep  in  the  crowd;  till  the  brown  torrent  disap 
peared  into  the  dusk  of  the  river-bed,  raced  over  the 
pilework,  swarmed  along  the  lattices,  clustered  by  the 
cranes,  and  stood  still— each  man  in  his  place. 

Then  the  troubled  beating  of  the  gong  carried  the 
order  to  take  up  everything  and  bear  it  beyond  high- 
water  mark,  and  the  flare-lamps  broke  out  by  the  hun 
dred  between  the  webs  of  dull  iron  as  the  riveters 
began  a  night's  work,  racing  against  the  flood  that  was 
to  come.  The  girders  of  the  three  centre  piers— those 
that  stood  on  the  cribs— were  all  but  in  position.  They 
needed  just  as  many  rivets  as  could  be  driven  into  them, 
[15] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

for  the  flood  would  assuredly  wash  out  their  supports, 
and  the  ironwork  would  settle  down  on  the  caps  of 
stone  if  they  were  not  blocked  at  the  ends.  A  hundred 
crowbars  strained  at  the  sleepers  of  the  temporary  line 
that  fed  the  unfinished  piers.  It  was  heaved  up  in 
lengths,  loaded  into  trucks,  and  backed  up  the  bank 
beyond  flood-level  by  the  groaning  locomotives.  The 
tool-sheds  on  the  sands  melted  away  before  the  attack 
of  shouting  armies,  and  with  them  went  the  stacked 
ranks  of  Government  stores,  iron-bound  boxes  of  rivets, 
pliers,  cutters,  duplicate  parts  of  the  riveting-machines, 
spare  pumps  and  chains.  The  big  crane  would  be  the 
last  to  be  shifted,  for  she  was  hoisting  all  the  heavy  stuff 
up  to  the  main  structure  of  the  bridge.  The  concrete 
blocks  on  the  fleet  of  stone-boats  were  dropped  over 
side,  where  there  was  any  depth  of  water,  to  guard 
the  piers,  and  the  empty  boats  themselves  were  poled 
under  the  bridge  down-stream.  It  was  here  that  Pe- 
roo's  pipe  shrilled  loudest,  for  the  first  stroke  of  the 
big  gong  had  brought  the  dinghy  back  at  racing  speed, 
and  Peroo  and  his  people  were  stripped  to  the  waist, 
working  for  the  honour  and  credit  which  are  better 
than  life. 

"  I  knew  she  would  speak,"  he  cried.  "  I  knew,  but 
the  telegraph  gives  us  good  warning.  O  sons  of  un 
thinkable  begetting— children  of  unspeakable  shame— 
are  we  here  for  the  look  of  the  thing? "  It  was  two  feet 
of  wire-rope  frayed  at  the  ends,  and  it  did  wonders  as 
Peroo  leaped  from  gunnel  to  gunnel,  shouting  the  lan 
guage  of  the  sea. 

Findlayson  was  more  troubled  for  the  stone-boats 
[16] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

than  anything  else.  McCartney,  with  his  gangs,  was 
blocking  up  the  ends  of  the  three  doubtful  spans,  but 
boats  adrift,  if  the  flood  chanced  to  be  a  high  one,  might 
endanger  the  girders;  and  there  was  a  very  fleet  in  the 
shrunken  channel. 

"  Get  them  behind  the  swell  of  the  guard-tower,'*  he 
shouted  down  to  Peroo.  "  It  will  be  dead-water  there. 
Get  them  below  the  bridge." 

"Accha!  [Very  good.]  I  know;  we  are  mooring 
them  with  wire-rope, l '  was  the  answer.  '  *  Heh !  Listen 
to  the  Chota  Sahib.  He  is  working  hard." 

From  across  the  river  came  an  almost  continuous 
whistling  of  locomotives,  backed  by  the  rumble  of  stone. 
Hitchcock  at  the  last  minute  was  spending  a  few  hun 
dred  more  trucks  of  Tarakee  stone  in  reinforcing  his 
spurs  and  embankments. 

"  The  bridge  challenges  Mother  Gunga,"  said  Peroo, 
with  a  laugh.  '  *  But  when  she  talks  I  know  whose  voice 
will  be  the  loudest. ' ' 

For  hours  the  naked  men  worked,  screaming  and 
shouting  under  the  lights.  It  was  a  hot,  moonless 
night;  the  end  of  it  was  darkened  by  clouds  and  a  sudden 
squall  that  made  Findlayson  very  grave. 

"She  moves!"  said  Peroo,  just  before  the  dawn. 
"Mother  Gunga  is  awake!  Hear!"  He  dipped  his 
hand  over  the  side  of  a  boat  and  the  current  mumbled 
on  it.  A  little  wave  hit  the  side  of  a  pier  with  a  crisp 
slap. 

*  *  Six  hours  before  her  time, ' '  said  Findlayson,  mopping 
his  forehead  savagely.  "  Now  we  can't  depend  on  any 
thing.  We '  d  better  clear  all  hands  out  of  the  river-bed. ' ' 
[17] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Again  the  big  gong  beat,  and  a  second  time  there  was 
the  rushing  of  naked  feet  on  earth  and  ringing  iron;  the 
clatter  of  tools  ceased.  In  the  silence,  men  heard  the 
dry  yawn  of  water  crawling  over  thirsty  sand. 

Foreman  after  foreman  shouted  to  Findlayson,  who 
had  posted  himself  by  the  guard-tower,  that  his  section 
of  the  river-bed  had  been  cleaned  out,  and  when  the  last 
voice  dropped  Findlayson  hurried  over  the  bridge  till  the 
iron  plating  of  the  permanent  way  gave  place  to  the 
temporary  plank-walk  over  the  three  centre  piers,  and 
there  he  met  Hitchcock. 

* 4  'All  clear  your  side ? ' '  said  Findlay son.  The  whisper 
rang  in  the  box  of  latticework. 

"  Yes,  and  the  east  channel  's  filling  now.  We  're 
utterly  out  of  our  reckoning.  When  is  this  thing  down 
onus?" 

"  There  's  no  saying.  She 's  filling  as  fast  as  she  can. 
Look!"  Findlayson  pointed  to  the  planks  below  his 
feet,  where  the  sand,  burned  and  defiled  by  months  of 
work,  was  beginning  to  whisper  and  fizz. 

"  What  orders? "  said  Hitchcock. 

"  Call  the  roll— count  stores— sit  on  your  hunkers— 
and  pray  for  the  bridge.  That  's  all  I  can  think  of. 
Good  night.  Don't  risk  your  life  trying  to  fish  out 
anything  that  may  go  down-stream." 

u  Oh,  I  '11  be  as  prudent  as  you  are!  'Night.  Hea 
vens,  how  she  's  filling!  Here  's  the  rain  in  earnest!  " 
Findlayson  picked  his  way  back  to  his  bank,  sweeping 
the  last  of  McCartney's  riveters  before  him.  The  gangs 
had  spread  themselves  along  the  embankments,  regard 
less  of  the  cold  rain  of  the  dawn,  and  there  they  waited 
[18] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

for  the  flood.  Only  Peroo  kept  his  men  together  behind 
the  swell  of  the  guard-tower,  where  the  stone-boats  lay 
tied  fore  and  aft  with  hawsers,  wire-rope,  and  chains. 

A  shrill  wail  ran  along  the  line,  growing  to  a  yell,  half 
fear  and  half  wonder :  the  face  of  the  river  whitened  from 
bank  to  bank  between  the  stone  facings,  and  the  far 
away  spurs  went  out  in  spouts  of  foam.  Mother  Gunga 
had  come  bank-high  in  haste,  and  a  wall  of  chocolate- 
coloured  water  was  her  messenger.  There  was  a  shriek 
above  the  roar  of  the  water,  the  complaint  of  the  spans 
coming  down  on  their  blocks  as  the  cribs  were  whirled 
out  from  under  their  bellies.  The  stone-boats  groaned 
and  ground  each  other  in  the  eddy  that  swung  round 
the  abutment,  and  their  clumsy  masts  rose  higher  and 
higher  against  the  dim  sky-line. 

"  Before  she  was  shut  between  these  walls  we  knew 
what  she  would  do.  Now  she  is  thus  cramped  God  only 
knows  what  she  will  do!"  said  Peroo,  watching  the 
furious  turmoil  round  the  guard-tower.  ' '  Ohe !  Fight, 
then !  Fight  hard,  for  it  is  thus  that  a  woman  wears 
herself  out." 

But  Mother  Gunga  would  not  fight  as  Peroo  desired. 
After  the  first  down-stream  plunge  there  came  no  more 
walls  of  water,  but  the  river  lifted  herself  bodily,  as  a 
snake  when  she  drinks  in  midsummer,  plucking  and 
fingering  along  the  revetments,  and  banking  up  behind 
the  piers  till  even  Findlayson  began  to  recalculate  the 
strength  of  his  work. 

When  day  came  the  village  gasped.  * '  Only  last  night, ' ' 
men  said,  turning  to  each  other,  * '  it  was  as  a  town  in 
the  river-bed!    Look  now  I" 
[19] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

And  they  looked  and  wondered  afresh  at  the  deep 
water,  the  racing  water  that  licked  the  throat  of  the 
piers.  The  farther  bank  was  veiled  by  rain,  into  which 
the  bridge  ran  out  and  vanished;  the  spurs  up-stream 
were  marked  by  no  more  than  eddies  and  spoutings, 
and  down-stream  the  pent  river,  once  freed  of  her 
guide-lines,  had  spread  like  a  sea  to  the  horizon.  Then 
hurried  by,  rolling  in  the  water,  dead  men  and  oxen 
together,  with  here  and  there  a  patch  of  thatched  roof 
that  melted  when  it  touched  a  pier. 

* '  Big  flood, ' '  said  Peroo,  and  Findlayson  nodded.  It 
was  as  big  a  flood  as  he  had  any  wish  to  watch.  His 
bridge  would  stand  what  was  upon  her  now,  but  not  very 
much  more,  and  if  by  any  of  a  thousand  chances  there 
happened  to  be  a  weakness  in  the  embankments,  Mother 
Gunga  would  carry  his  honour  to  the  sea  with  the  other 
raffle.  Worst  of  all,  there  was  nothing  to  do  except  to 
sit  still ;  and  Findlayson  sat  still  under  his  macintosh  till 
his  helmet  became  pulp  on  his  head,  and  his  boots  were 
over-ankle  in  mire.  He  took  no  count  of  time,  for  the 
river  was  marking  the  hours,  inch  by  inch  and  foot  by 
foot,  along  the  embankment,  and  he  listened,  numb  and 
hungry,  to  the  straining  of  the  stone-boats,  the  hollow 
thunder  under  the  piers,  and  the  hundred  noises  that 
make  the  full  note  of  a  flood.  Once  a  dripping  servant 
brought  him  food,  but  he  could  not  eat;  and  once  he 
thought  that  he  heard  a  faint  toot  from  a  locomotive 
across  the  river,  and  then  he  smiled.  The  bridge's  failure 
would  hurt  his  assistant  not  a  little,  but  Hitchcock  was 
a  young  man  with  his  big  work  yet  to  do.  For  himself 
the  crash  meant  everything— everything  that  made  a 
[20] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

hard  life  worth  the  living.  They  would  say,  the  men  of 
his  own  profession  ...  he  remembered  the  half- 
pitying  things  that  he  himself  had  said  when  Lock- 
hart's  new  waterworks  burst  and  broke  down  in  brick- 
heaps  and  sludge,  and  Lockhart's  spirit  broke  in  him 
and  he  died.  He  remembered  what  he  himself  had  said 
when  the  Sumao  Bridge  went  out  in  the  big  cyclone  by 
the  sea;  and  most  he  remembered  poor  Hartopp's  face 
three  weeks  later,  when  the  shame  had  marked  it.  His 
bridge  was  twice  the  size  of  Hartopp's,  and  it  carried 
the  Findlayson  truss  as  well  as  the  new  pier-shoe— the 
Findlayson  bolted  shoe.  There  were  no  excuses  in  his 
service.  Government  might  listen,  perhaps,  but  his 
own  kind  would  judge  him  by  his  bridge,  as  that  stood 
or  fell.  He  went  over  it  in  his  head,  plate  by  plate, 
span  by  span,  brick  by  brick,  pier  by  pier,  remember 
ing,  comparing,  estimating,  and  recalculating,  lest  there 
should  be  any  mistake ;  and  through  the  long  hours 
and  through  the  nights  of  formulse  that  danced  and 
wheeled  before  him  a  cold  fear  would  come  to  pinch  his 
heart.  His  side  of  the  sum  was  beyond  question;  but 
what  man  knew  Mother  Gunga's  arithmetic?  Even  as 
he  was  making  all  sure  by  the  multiplication-table,  the 
river  might  be  scooping  a  pot-hole  to  the  very  bottom 
of  any  one  of  those  eighty-foot  piers  that  carried  his 
reputation.  Again  a  servant  came  to  him  with  food, 
but  his  mouth  was  dry,  and  he  could  only  drink  and 
return  to  the  decimals  in  his  brain.  And  the  river  was 
still  rising.  Peroo,  in  a  mat  shelter-coat,  crouched  at 
his  feet,  watching  now  his  face  and  now  the  face  of 
the  river,  but  saying  nothing. 
[21] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

At  last  the  Lascar  rose  and  floundered  through  the 
mud  towards  the  village,  but  he  was  careful  to  leave  an 
ally  to  watch  the  boats. 

Presently  he  returned,  most  irreverently  driving  be 
fore  him  the  priest  of  his  creed— a  fat  old  man,  with  a 
grey  beard  that  whipped  the  wind  with  the  wet  cloth 
that  blew  over  his  shoulder.  Never  was  seen  so  lamen 
table  a  guru. 

1 '  What  good  are  offerings  and  little  kerosene  lamps  and 
dry  grain,"  shouted  Peroo,  "  if  squatting  in  the  mud  is 
all  that  thou  canst  do?  Thou  hast  dealt  long  with  the 
Gods  when  they  were  contented  and  well-  wishing.  Now 
they  are  angry.  Speak  to  them !" 

"  "What  is  a  man  against  the  wrath  of  Gods? "  whined 
the  priest,  cowering  as  the  wind  took  him.  ' '  Let  me  go 
to  the  temple,  and  I  will  pray  there." 

' '  Son  of  a  pig,  pray  here  !  Is  there  no  return  for  salt 
fish  and  curry  powder  and  dried  onions?  Call  aloud ! 
Tell  Mother  Gunga  we  have  had  enough.  Bid  her  be 
still  for  the  night.  I  cannot  pray,  but  I  have  been  serv 
ing  in  the  Kumpani's  boats,  and  when  men  did  not 
obey  my  orders  I—"  A  flourish  of  the  wire-rope  colt 
rounded  the  sentence,  and  the  priest,  breaking  free  from 
his  disciple,  fled  to  the  village. 

"Fat  pig!"  said  Peroo.  "After  all  that  we  have 
done  for  him !  When  the  flood  is  down  I  will  see  to  it 
that  we  get  a  new  guru.  Finlinson  Sahib,  it  darkens  for 
night  now,  and  since  yesterday  nothing  has  been  eaten. 
Be  wise,  Sahib.  No  man  can  endure  watching  and  great 
thinking  on  an  empty  belly.  Lie  down,  Sahib.  The 
river  will  do  what  the  river  will  do." 
[22] 


THE   BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  The  bridge  is  mine;  I  cannot  leave  it.1' 

"  "Wilt  thou  hold  it  up  with  thy  hands,  then?"  said 
Peroo,  laughing.  "  I  was  troubled  for  my  boats  and 
sheers  "before  the  flood  came.  Now  we  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  Gods.  The  Sahib  will  not  eat  and  lie  down? 
Take  these,  then.  They  are  meat  and  good  toddy  to 
gether,  and  they  kill  all  weariness,  besides  the  fever 
that  follows  the  rain.  I  have  eaten  nothing  else  to-day 
at  all." 

He  took  a  small  tin  tobacco-box  from  his  sodden  waist- 
belt  and  thrust  it  into  Findlayson's  hand,  saying: 
"  Nay,  do  not  be  afraid.  It  is  no  more  than  opium- 
clean  Malwa  opium  I " 

Findlayson  shook  two  or  three  of  the  dark-brown 
pellets  into  his  hand,  and  hardly  knowing  what  he  did, 
swallowed  them.  The  stuff  was  at  least  a  good  guard 
against  fever— the  fever  that  was  creeping  upon  him 
out  of  the  wet  mud— and  he  had  seen  what  Peroo  could 
do  in  the  stewing  mists  of  autumn  on  the  strength  of  a 
dose  from  the  tin  box. 

Peroo  nodded  with  bright  eyes.  "  In  a  little— in  a 
little  the  Sahib  will  find  that  he  thinks  well  again.  I  too 
will—"  He  dived  into  his  treasure-box,  resettled  the 
rain-coat  over  his  head,  and  squatted  down  to  watch  the 
boats.  It  was  too  dark  now  to  see  beyond  the  first  pier, 
and  the  night  seemed  to  have  given  the  river  new 
strength.  Findlayson  stood  with  his  chin  on  his  chest, 
thinking.  There  was  one  point  about  one  of  the  piers— 
the  seventh — that  he  had  not  fully  settled  in  his  mind. 
The  figures  would  not  shape  themselves  to  the  eye  ex 
cept  one  by  one  and  at  enormous  intervals  of  time. 
[23] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

There  was  a  sound  rich  and  mellow  in  his  ears  like  the 
deepest  note  of  a  double-bass— an  entrancing  sound 
upon  which  he  pondered  for  several  hours,  as  it  seemed. 
Then  Peroo  was  at  his  elbow,  shouting  that  a  wire 
hawser  had  snapped  and  the  stone-boats  were  loose. 
Findlayson  saw  the  fleet  open  and  swing  out  fanwise 
to  a  long-drawn  shriek  of  wire  straining  across  gunnels. 

"  A  tree  hit  them.  They  will  all  go,"  cried  Peroo. 
4 '  The  main  hawser  has  parted.  What  does  the  Sahib  do?  " 

An  immensely  complex  plan  had  suddenly  flashed  into 
Findlay son's  mind.  He  saw  the  ropes  running  from 
boat  to  boat  in  straight  lines  and  angles— each  rope  a 
line  of  white  fire.  But  there  was  one  rope  which  was  the 
master  rope.  He  could  see  that  rope.  If  he  could  pull 
it  once,  it  was  absolutely  and  mathematically  certain 
that  the  disordered  fleet  would  reassemble  itself  in  the 
backwater  behind  the  guard-tower.  But  why,  he  won 
dered,  was  Peroo  clinging  so  desperately  to  his  waist  as 
he  hastened  down  the  bank  ?  It  was  necessary  to  put  the 
Lascar  aside,  gently  and  slowly,  because  it  was  necessary 
to  save  the  boats,  and,  further,  to  demonstrate  the  ex 
treme  ease  of  the  problem  that  looked  so  difficult.  And 
then— but  it  was  of  no  conceivable  importance— a  wire- 
rope  raced  through  his  hand,  burning  it,  the  high  bank 
disappeared,  and  with  it  all  the  slowly  dispersing  fac 
tors  of  the  problem.  He  was  sitting  in  the  rainy  dark 
ness—sitting  in  a  boat  that  spun  like  a  top,  and  Peroo 
was  standing  over  him. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  the  Lascar,  slowly,  "  that  to 
those  fasting  and  unused,  the  opium  is  worse  than  any 
wine.  Those  who  die  in  Gunga  go  to  the  Gods.  Still,  I 
[24] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

have  no  desire  to  present  myself  before  such  great  ones. 
Can  the  Sahib  swim? " 

' '  What  need?  He  can  fly —fly  as  swiftly  as  the  wind, ' ' 
was  the  thick  answer. 

* '  He  is  mad  1 ' '  muttered  Peroo,  under  his  breath. 
"  And  he  threw  me  aside  like  a  bundle  of  dung-cakes. 
Well,  he  will  not  know  his  death.  The  boat  cannot  live 
an  hour  here  even  if  she  strike  nothing.  It  is  not  good 
to  look  at  death  with  a  clear  eye." 

He  refreshed  himself  again  from  the  tin  box,  squatted 
down  in  the  bows  of  the  reeling,  pegged,  and  stitched 
craft,  staring  through  the  mist  at  the  nothing  that  was 
there.  A  warm  drowsiness  crept  over  Findlayson, 
the  Chief  Engineer,  whose  duty  was  with  his  bridge. 
The  heavy  raindrops  struck  him  with  a  thousand  tingling 
little  thrills,  and  the  weight  of  all  time  since  time  was 
made  hung  heavy  on  his  eyelids.  He  thought  and  per 
ceived  that  he  was  perfectly  secure,  for  the  water  was 
so  solid  that  a  man  could  surely  step  out  upon  it,  and, 
standing  still  with  his  legs  apart  to  keep  his  balance— 
this  was  the  most  important  point— would  be  borne  with 
great  and  easy  speed  to  the  shore.  But  yet  a  better 
plan  came  to  him.  It  needed  only  an  exertion  of  will 
for  the  soul  to  hurl  the  body  ashore  as  wind  drives 
paper,  to  waft  it  kite-fashion  to  the  bank.  Thereafter 
— the  boat  spun  dizzily— suppose  the  high  wind  got 
under  the  freed  body?  Would  it  tower  up  like  a  kite 
and  pitch  headlong  on  the  far-away  sands,  or  would  it 
duck  about,  beyond  control,  through  all  eternity?  Find 
layson  gripped  the  gunnel  to  anchor  himself,  for  it 
seemed  that  he  was  on  the  edge  of  taking  the  flight  be- 
[25] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

fore  he  had  settled  all  his  plans.  Opium  has  more  effect 
on  the  white  man  than  the  black.  Peroo  was  only  com 
fortably  indifferent  to  accidents.  "She  cannot  live," 
he  grunted.  "  Her  seams  open  already.  If  she  were 
even  a  dinghy  with  oars  we  could  have  ridden  it  out ;  but 
a  box  with  holes  is  no  good.  Finlinson  Sahib,  she  fills. ' ' 

"  Accha  I    I  am  going  away.     Come  thou  also." 

In  his  mind,  Findlayson  had  already  escaped  from 
the  boat,  and  was  circling  high  in  air  to  find  a  rest  for 
the  sole  of  his  foot.  His  body— he  was  really  sorry  for 
its  gross  helplessness— lay  in  the  stern,  the  water  rush 
ing  about  its  knees. 

"  How  very  ridiculous!  "  he  said  to  himself,  from  his 
eyrie—"  that— is  Findlayson— chief  of  the  Kashi  Bridge. 
The  poor  beast  is  going  to  be  drowned,  too.  Drowned 
when  it  's  close  to  shore.  I  'm— I  'm  on  shore  already. 
Why  does  n't  it  come  along?  " 

To  his  intense  disgust,  he  found  his  soul  back  in  his 
body  again,  and  that  body  spluttering  and  choking  in 
deep  water.  The  pain  of  the  reunion  was  atrocious,  but 
it  was  necessary,  also,  to  fight  for  the  body.  He  was  con 
scious  of  grasping  wildly  at  wet  sand,  and  striding 
prodigiously,  as  one  strides  in  a  dream,  to  keep  foot 
hold  in  the  swirling  water,  till  at  last  he  hauled  himself 
clear  of  the  hold  of  the  river,  and  dropped,  panting,  on 
wet  earth. 

"  Not  this  night,"  said  Peroo,  in  his  ear.  "  The  Gods 
have  protected  us."  The  Lascar  moved  his  feet  cau 
tiously,  and  they  rustled  among  dried  stumps.  * '  This  is 
some  island  of  last  year's  indigo-crop,"  he  went  on. 
"  We  shall  find  no  men  here;  but  have  great  care, 
[26] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Sahib;  all  the  snakes  of  a  hundred  miles  have  been 
flooded  out.  Here  comes  the  lightning,  on  the  heels  of 
the  wind.  Now  we  shall  be  able  to  look;  but  walk 
carefully." 

Findlayson  was  far  and  far  beyond  any  fear  of  snakes, 
or  indeed  any  merely  human  emotion.  He  saw,  after  he 
had  rubbed  the  water  from  his  eyes,  with  an  immense 
clearness,  and  trod,  so  it  seemed  to  himself,  with  world- 
encompassing  strides.  Somewhere  in  the  night  of  time 
he  had  built  a  bridge— a  bridge  that  spanned  illimitable 
levels  of  shining  seas;  but  the  Deluge  had  swept  it  away, 
leaving  this  one  island  under  heaven  for  Findlayson  and 
his  companion,  sole  survivors  of  the  breed  of  Man. 

An  incessant  lightning,  forked  and  blue,  showed  all 
that  there  was  to  be  seen  on  the  little  patch  in  the  flood 
—a  clump  of  thorn,  a  clump  of  swaying  creaking  bam 
boos,  and  a  grey  gnarled  peepul  overshadowing  a  Hindoo 
shrine,  from  whose  dome  floated  a  tattered  red  flag.  The 
holy  man  whose  summer  resting-place  it  was  had  long 
since  abandoned  it,  and  the  weather  had  broken  the  red- 
daubed  image  of  his  god.  The  two  men  stumbled,  heavy- 
limbed  and  heavy-eyed,  over  the  ashes  of  a  brick-set 
cooking-place,  and  dropped  down  under  the  shelter  of  the 
branches,  while  the  rain  and  river  roared  together. 

The  stumps  of  the  indigo  crackled,  and  there  was  a 
smell  of  cattle,  as  a  huge  and  dripping  Brahminee  bull 
shouldered  his  way  under  the  tree.  The  flashes  revealed 
the  trident  mark  of  Shiva  on  his  flank,  the  insolence  of 
head  and  hump,  the  luminous  stag-like  eyes,  the  brow 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  sodden  marigold  blooms,  and 
the  silky  dewlap  that  almost  swept  the  ground.  There 
[27] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

was  a  noise  behind  him  of  other  beasts  coming  up  from 
the  flood-line  through  the  thicket,  a  sound  of  heavy 
feet  and  deep  breathing. 

"  Here  be  more  beside  ourselves,"  said  Findlayson,  his 
head  against  the  tree-pole,  looking  through  half-shut 
eyes,  wholly  at  ease. 

"  Truly,"  said  Peroo,  thickly,  "  and  no  small  ones." 

"  What  are  they,  then?    I  do  not  see  clearly." 

"The  Gods.    Who  else?    Look!" 

*  *  Ah,  true !  The  Gods  surely —the  Gods. ' '  Findlay 
son  smiled  as  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  chest.  Peroo 
was  eminently  right.  After  the  Flood,  who  should  be 
alive  in  the  land  except  the  Gods  that  made  it— the  Gods 
to  whom  his  village  prayed  nightly— the  Gods  who  were 
in  all  men' s  mouths  and  about  all  men' s  ways.  He  could 
not  raise  his  head  or  stir  a  finger  for  the  trance  that  held 
him,  and  Peroo  was  smiling  vacantly  at  the  lightning. 

The  Bull  paused  by  the  shrine,  his  head  lowered  to  the 
damp  earth.  A  green  Parrot  in  the  branches  preened  his 
wet  wings  and  screamed  against  the  thunder  as  the  circle 
under  the  tree  filled  with  the  shifting  shadows  of  beasts. 
There  was  a  black  Buck  at  the  Bull's  heels— such  a  Buck 
as  Findlayson  in  his  far-away  life  upon  earth  might  have 
seen  in  dreams— a  Buck  with  a  royal  head,  ebon  back, 
silver  belly,  and  gleaming  straight  horns.  Beside  him, 
her  head  bowed  to  the  ground,  the  green  eyes  burning 
under  the  heavy  brows,  with  restless  tail  switching  the 
dead  grass,  paced  a  Tigress,  full-bellied  and  deep-jowled. 

The  Bull  crouched  beside  the  shrine,  and  there  leaped 
from  the  darkness  a  monstrous  grey  Ape,  who  seated 
himself  man- wise  in  the  place  of  the  fallen  image,  and 
[28] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

the  rain  spilled  like  jewels  from  the  hair  of  his  neck  and 
shoulders. 

Other  shadows  came  and  went  behind  the  circle,  among 
them  a  drunken  Man  flourishing  staff  and  drinking- 
bottle.  Then  a  hoarse  bellow  broke  out  from  near  the 
ground.  "The  flood  lessens  even  now,"  it  cried. 
' '  Hour  by  hour  the  water  falls,  and  their  bridge  still 
stands!" 

"My  bridge,"  said  Findlayson  to  himself.  "That 
must  be  very  old  work  now.  What  have  the  Gods  to  do 
with  my  bridge? " 

His  eyes  rolled  in  the  darkness  following  the  roar.  A 
Mugger— the  blunt-nosed,  ford-haunting  Mugger  of  the 
Ganges— draggled  herself  before  the  beasts,  lashing  furi 
ously  to  right  and  left  with  her  tail. 

' '  They  have  made  it  too  strong  for  me.  In  all  this 
night  I  have  only  torn  away  a  handful  of  planks.  The 
walls  stand.  The  towers  stand.  They  have  chained  my 
flood,  and  the  river  is  not  free  any  more.  Heavenly 
Ones,  take  this  yoke  away!  Give  me  clear  water  be 
tween  bank  and  bank!  It  is  I,  Mother  Gunga,  that 
speak.  The  Justice  of  the  Gods!  Deal  me  the  Justice 
of  the  Gods!" 

"  What  said  I?  "  whispered  Peroo.  "  This  is  in  truth 
a  Punchayet  of  the  Gods.  Now  we  know  that  all  the 
world  is  dead,  save  you  and  I,  Sahib." 

The  Parrot  screamed  and  fluttered  again,  and  the 
Tigress,  her  ears  flat  to  her  head,  snarled  wickedly. 

Somewhere  in  the  shadow,  a  great  trunk  and  gleaming 
tusks  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  a  low  gurgle  broke  the 
silence  that  followed  on  the  snarl. 
[29] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  We  be  here,"  said  a  deep  voice,  u  the  Great  Ones. 
One  only  and  very  many.  Shiv,  my  father,  is  here,  with 
Indra.  Kali  has  spoken  already.  Hanuman  listens 
also." 

"  Kashi  is  without  her  Kotwal  to-night,"  shouted  the 
Man  with  the  drinking-bottle,  flinging  his  staff  to  the 
ground,  while  the  island  rang  to  the  baying  of  hounds. 
"  Give  her  the  Justice  of  the  Gods." 

"  Ye  were  still  when  they  polluted  my  waters,"  the 
great  Crocodile  bellowed.  "  Ye  made  no  sign  when  my 
river  was  trapped  between  the  walls.  I  had  no  help 
save  my  own  strength,  and  that  failed— the  strength 
of  Mother  Gunga  failed— before  their  guard- towers. 
What  could  I  do?  I  have  done  everything.  Finish 
now,  Heavenly  Ones! " 

"I  brought  the  death;  I  rode  the  spotted  sickness 
from  hut  to  hut  of  their  workmen,  and  yet  they  would 
not  cease."  A  nose-slitten,  hide- worn  Ass,  lame,  scis- 
sor-legged,  and  galled,  limped  forward.  ' '  I  cast  the  death 
at  them  out  of  my  nostrils,  but  they  would  not  cease." 

Peroo  would  have  moved,  but  the  opium  lay  heavy 
upon  him. 

"  Bah!  "  he  said,  spitting.  "  Here  is  Sitala  herself; 
Mata— the  small-pox.  Has  the  Sahib  a  handkerchief  to 
put  over  his  face?  " 

"  Little  help!  They  fed  me  the  corpses  for  a  month, 
and  I  flung  them  out  on  my  sand-bars,  but  their  work 
went  forward.  Demons  they  are,  and  sons  of  demons! 
And  ye  left  Mother  Gunga  alone  for  their  fire-carriage 
to  make  a  mock  of.  The  Justice  of  the  Gods  on  the 
bridge-builders ! ' ' 

[30] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

The  Bull  turned  the  cud  in  his  mouth  and  answered 
slowly :  "  If  the  Justice  of  the  Gods  caught  all  who  made 
a  mock  of  holy  things  there  would  be  many  dark  altars 
in  the  land,  mother." 

''But  this  goes  beyond  a  mock,"  said  the  Tigress, 
darting  forward  a  griping  paw.  "  Thou  knowest,  Shiv, 
and  ye,  too,  Heavenly  Ones;  ye  know  that  they  have 
defiled  Gunga.  Surely  they  must  come  to  the  Destroyer. 
Let  Indra  judge." 

The  Buck  made  no  movement  as  he  answered :  ' '  How 
long  has  this  evil  been?  " 

"  Three  years,  as  men  count  years,"  said  the  Mugger, 
close  pressed  to  the  earth. 

"  Does  Mother  Gunga  die,  then,  in  a  year,  that  she  is 
so  anxious  to  see  vengeance  now?  The  deep  sea  was 
where  she  runs  but  yesterday,  and  to-morrow  the  sea 
shall  cover  her  again  as  the  Gods  count  that  which  men 
call  time.  Can  any  say  that  this  their  bridge  endures 
till  to-morrow?  "  said  the  Buck. 

There  was  a  long  hush,  and  in  the  clearing  of  the  storm 
the  full  moon  stood  up  above  the  dripping  trees. 

"  Judge  ye,  then,"  said  the  River,  sullenly.  "  I  have 
spoken  my  shame.  The  flood  falls  still.  I  can  do  no 
more." 

44  For  my  own  part"— it  was  the  voice  of  the  great 
Ape  seated  within  the  shrine—"  it  pleases  me  well  to 
watch  these  men,  remembering  that  I  also  builded  no 
small  bridge  in  the  world's  youth." 

44  They  say,  too,"  snarled  the  Tiger,  u  that  these  men 
came  of  the  wreck  of  thy  armies,  Hanuman,  and  there 
fore  thou  hast  aided—" 

[31] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  They  toil  as  my  armies  toiled  in  Lanka,  and  they  be 
lieve  that  their  toil  endures.  Indra  is  too  high,  but  Shiv, 
thou  knowest  how  the  land  is  threaded  with  their  fire- 
carriages.  ' ' 

"Yea,  I  know4"  said  the  Bull.  "Their  Gods  in 
structed  them  in  the  matter." 

A  laugh  ran  round  the  circle. 

"  Their  Gods !  What  should  their  Gods  know?  They 
were  born  yesterday,  and  those  that  made  them  are 
scarcely  yet  cold, ' '  said  the  Mugger.  * '  To-morrow  their 
Gods  will  die." 

"  Ho !  "  said  Peroo.  * '  Mother  Gunga  talks  good  talk. 
I  told  that  to  the  padre-sahib  who  preached  on  the 
Mombassa,  and  he  asked  the  Burra  Malum  to  put  me 
in  irons  for  a  great  rudeness." 

"  Surely  they  make  these  things  to  please  their  Gods," 
said  the  Bull  again. 

"  Not  altogether,"  the  Elephant  rolled  forth.  "  It  is 
for  the  profit  of  my  mahajuns— my  fat  money-lenders 
that  worship  me  at  each  new  year,  when  they  draw  my 
image  at  the  head  of  the  account-books.  I,  looking  over 
their  shoulders  by  lamplight,  see  that  the  names  in  the 
books  are  those  of  men  in  far  places— for  all  the  towns 
are  drawn  together  by  the  fire-carriage,  and  the  money 
comes  and  goes  swiftly,  and  the  account-books  grow  as 
fat  as— myself .  And  I,  who  am  Ganesh  of  Good  Luck, 
I  bless  my  peoples." 

"  They  have  changed  the  face  of  the  land— which  is 
my  land.  They  have  killed  and  made  new  towns  on  my 
banks,"  said  the  Mugger. 

"  It  is  but  the  shifting  of  a  little  dirt.  Let  the  dirt 
[32] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

dig  in  the  dirt  if  it  pleases  the  dirt,"  answered  the 
Elephant. 

* '  But  afterwards  ? ' '  said  the  Tiger.  *  *  Afterwards  they 
will  see  that  Mother  Gunga  can  avenge  no  insult,  and 
they  fall  away  from  her  first,  and  later  from  us  all,  one 
by  one.  In  the  end,  Ganesh,  we  are  left  with  naked 
altars." 

The  drunken  Man  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  hiccupped 
vehemently. 

"  Kali  lies.  My  sister  lies.  Also  this  my  stick  is  the 
Kotwal  of  Kashi,  and  he  keeps  tally  of  my  pilgrims. 
When  the  time  comes  to  worship  Bhairon — and  it  is  al 
ways  time— the  fire-carriages  move  one  by  one,  and  each 
bears  a  thousand  pilgrims.  They  do  not  come  afoot  any 
more,  but  rolling  upon  wheels,  and  my  honour  is  in 
creased." 

"  Gunga,  I  have  seen  thy  bed  at  Pryag  black  with  the 
pilgrims,"  said  the  Ape,  leaning  forward,  "and  but 
for  the  fire-carriage  they  would  have  come  slowly  and  in 
fewer  numbers.  Remember." 

'  *  They  come  to  me  always, ' '  Bhairon  went  on  thickly. 
"By  day  and  night  they  pray  to  me,  all  the  Common 
People  in  the  fields  and  the  roads.  Who  is  like  Bhairon 
to-day?  What  talk  is  this  of  changing  faiths?  Is  my 
staff  Kotwal  of  Kashi  for  nothing?  He  keeps  the  tally, 
and  he  says  that  never  were  so  many  altars  as  to-day, 
and  the  fire-carriage  serves  them  well.  Bhairon  am  I 
—Bhairon  of  the  Common  People,  and  the  chiefest  of 
the  Heavenly  Ones  to-day.  Also  my  staff  says—" 

"Peace,  thou!"  lowed  the  Bull.  "The  worship  of 
the  schools  is  mine,  and  they  talk  very  wisely,  asking 
[33] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

whether  I  be  one  or  many,  as  is  the  delight  of  my 
people,  and  ye  know  what  I  am.  Kali,  my  wife,  thou 
knowest  also." 

"  Yea,  I  know,"  said  the  Tigress,  with  lowered  head. 

"  Greater  am  I  than  Gunga  also.  For  ye  know  who 
moved  the  minds  of  men  that  they  should  count  Gunga 
holy  among  the  rivers.  Who  die  in  that  water— ye 
know  how  men  say— come  to  us  without  punishment, 
and  Gunga  knows  that  the  fire-carriage  has  borne  to  her 
scores  upon  scores  of  such  anxious  ones ;  and  Kali  knows 
that  she  has  held  her  chiefest  festivals  among  the  pil 
grimages  that  are  fed  by  the  fire-carriage.  Who  smote 
at  Pooree,  under  the  Image  there,  her  thousands  hi  a 
day  and  a  night,  and  bound  the  sickness  to  the  wheels 
of  the  fire-carriages,  so  that  it  ran  from  one  end  of  the 
land  to  the  other?  Who  but  Kali?  Before  the  fire-car 
riage  came  it  was  a  heavy  toil.  The  fire-carriages  have 
served  thee  well,  Mother  of  Death.  But  I  speak  for 
mine  own  altars,  who  am  not  Bhairon  of  the  Common 
Folk,  but  Shiv.  Men  go  to  and  fro,  making  words  and 
telling  talk  of  strange  Gods,  and  I  listen.  Faith  follows 
faith  among  my  people  in  the  schools,  and  I  have  no 
anger;  for  when  all  wordb  0re  said,  and  the  new  talk  is 
ended,  to  Shiv  men  return  at  the  last." 

*  *  True.  It  is  true, ' '  murmured  Hanuman.  ' '  To  Shiv 
and  to  the  others,  mother,  they  return.  I  creep  from 
temple  to  temple  in  the  North,  where  they  worship  one 
God  and  His  Prophet;  and  presently  my  image  is  alone 
within  their  shrines." 

"Small  thanks,"  said  the  Buck,  turning  his  head 
slowly.    "  I  am  that  One  and  His  Prophet  also." 
[34] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"Even  so,  father,"  said  Hanuman.  "And  to  the 
South  I  go  who  am  the  oldest  of  the  Gods  as  men  know 
the  Gods,  and  presently  I  touch  the  shrines  of  the  New 
Faith  and  the  "Woman  whom  we  know  is  hewn  twelve- 
armed,  and  still  they  call  her  Mary." 

"Small  thanks,  brother,"  said  the  Tigress.  "I  am 
that  Woman." 

"  Even  so,  sister;  and  I  go  West  among  the  fire-car 
riages,  and  stand  before  the  bridge-builders  in  many 
shapes,  and  because  of  me  they  change  their  faiths  and 
are  very  wise.  Ho !  ho !  I  am  the  builder  of  bridges,  in 
deed—bridges  between  this  and  that,  and  each  bridge 
leads  surely  to  Us  in  the  end.  Be  content,  Gunga. 
Neither  these  men  nor  those  that  follow  them  mock 
theeatall." 

"Am  I  alone,  then,  Heavenly  Ones?  Shall  I  smooth 
out  my  flood  lest  unhappily  I  bear  away  their  walls? 
Will  Indra  dry  my  springs  in  the  hills  and  make  me 
crawl  humbly  between  their  wharfs?  Shall  I  bury  me  in 
the  sand  ere  I  offend?  " 

"And  all  for  the  sake  of  a  little  iron  bar  with  the  fire- 
carriage  atop.  Truly,  Mother  Gunga  is  always  young !" 
said  Ganesh  the  Elephant.  "A  child  had  not  spoken 
more  foolishly.  Let  the  dirt  dig  in  the  dirt  ere  it  return 
to  the  dirt.  I  know  only  that  my  people  grow  rich  and 
praise  me.  Shiv  has  said  that  the  men  of  the  schools  do 
not  forget;  Bhairon  is  content  for  his  crowd  of  the  Com 
mon  People;  and  Hanuman  laughs." 

"  Surely  I  laugh,"  said  the  Ape.  "  My  altars  are  few 
beside  those  of  Ganesh  or  Bhairon,  but  the  fire-carriages 
bring  me  new  worshippers  from  beyond  the  Black  Water 
[35] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

— the  men  who  believe  that  their  God  is  toil.     I  run  be 
fore  them  beckoning,  and  they  follow  Harmman." 

"  Give  them  the  toil  that  they  desire,  then,"  said  the 
River.  "  Make  a  bar  across  my  flood  and  throw  the 
water  back  upon  the  bridge.  Once  thou  wast  strong  in 
Lanka,  Hanuman.  Stoop  and  lift  my  bed." 

'  *  Who  gives  life  can  take  life. ' '  The  Ape  scratched  in 
the  mud  with  a  long  forefinger.  ' '  And  yet,  who  would 
profit  by  the  killing?  Very  many  would  die." 

There  came  up  from  the  water  a  snatch  of  a  love-song 
such  as  the  boys  sing  when  they  watch  their  cattle  in 
the  noon  heats  of  late  spring.  The  Parrot  screamed 
joyously,  sidling  along  his  branch  with  lowered  head  as 
the  song  grew  louder,  and  in  a  patch  of  clear  moonlight 
stood  revealed  the  young  herd,  the  darling  of  the  Gopis, 
the  idol  of  dreaming  maids  and  of  mothers  ere  their  chil 
dren  are  born— Krishna  the  Well-beloved.  He  stooped 
to  knot  up  his  long  wet  hair,  and  the  parrot  fluttered 
to  his  shoulder. 

"Fleeting  and  singing,  and  singing  and  fleeting," 
hiccupped  Bhairon.  "Those  make  thee  late  for  the 
council,  brother." 

"  And  then? "  said  Krishna,  with  a  laugh,  throwing 
back  his  head.  "  Ye  can  do  little  without  me  or  Karma 
here."  He  fondled  the  Parrot's  plumage  and  laughed 
again.  "  What  is  this  sitting  and  talking  together?  I 
heard  Mother  Gunga  roaring  in  the  dark,  and  so  came 
quickly  from  a  hut  where  I  lay  warm.  And  what  have 
ye  done  to  Karma,  that  he  is  so  wet  and  silent?  And 
what  does  Mother  Gunga  here?  Are  the  heavens  full 
that  ye  must  come  paddling  in  the  mud  beast- wise? 
Karma,  what  do  they  do? " 

[36] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  Gunga  has  prayed  for  a  vengeance  on  the  bridge- 
builders,  and  Kali  is  with  her.  Now  she  bids  Hanuman 
whelm  the  bridge,  that  her  honour  may  be  made  great," 
cried  the  Parrot.  "  I  waited  here,  knowing  that  thou 
wouldst  come,  O  my  master ! ' ' 

"  And  the  Heavenly  Ones  said  nothing?  Did  Gunga 
and  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  out-talk  them?  Did  none 
speak  for  my  people? " 

44  Nay,"  said  Ganesh,  moving  uneasily  from  foot  to 
foot;  "  I  said  it  was  but  dirt  at  play,  and  why  should  we 
stamp  it  flat?" 

"  I  was  content  to  let  them  toil— well  content,"  said 
Hanuman. 

"  What  had  I  to  do  with  Gunga' s  anger? "  said  the 
Bull. 

u  I  am  Bhairon  of  the  Common  Folk,  and  this  my  staff 
is  Kotwal  of  all  Kashi.  I  spoke  for  the  Common  People. ' ' 

"  Thou? "    The  young  God's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Am  I  not  the  first  of  the  Gods  in  their  mouths  to 
day?"  returned  Bhairon,  unabashed.  "For  the  sake 
of  the  Common  People  I  said— very  many  wise  things 
which  I  have  now  forgotten,  but  this  my  staff — " 

Krishna  turned  impatiently,  saw  the  Mugger  at  his 
feet,  and  kneeling,  slipped  an  arm  round  the  cold  neck. 
"  Mother,"  he  said  gently,  "  get  thee  to  thy  flood  again. 
The  matter  is  not  for  thee.  What  harm  shall  thy  hon 
our  take  of  this  live  dirt?  Thou  hast  given  them  their 
fields  new  year  after  year,  and  by  thy  flood  they  are 
made  strong.  They  come  all  to  thee  at  the  last.  What 
need  to  slay  them  now?  Have  pity,  mother,  for  a  little 
—and  it  is  only  for  a  little." 

"If  it  be  only  for  a  little—"  the  slow  beast  began. 
[37] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"Are  they  Gods,  then?"  Krishna  returned  with  a 
laugh,  his  eyes  looking  into  the  dull  eyes  of  the  River. 
"  Be  certain  that  it  is  only  for  a  little.  The  Heavenly 
Ones  have  heard  thee,  and  presently  justice  will  be  done. 
Go  now,  mother,  to  the  flood  again.  Men  and  cattle  are 
thick  on  the  waters— the  banks  fall— the  villages  melt 
because  of  thee." 

"But  the  bridge— the  bridge  stands."  The  Mugger 
turned  grunting  into  the  undergrowth  as  Krishna  rose. 

*  *  It  is  ended, ' '  said  the  Tigress,  viciously.  ' '  There  is 
no  more  justice  from  the  Heavenly  Ones.  Ye  have 
made  shame  and  sport  of  Gunga,  who  asked  no  more 
than  a  few  score  lives." 

"  Of  my  people— who  lie  under  the  leaf -roofs  of  the 
village  yonder— of  the  young  girls,  and  the  young  men 
who  sing  to  them  in  the  dark— of  the  child  that  will  be 
born  next  morn— of  that  which  was  begotten  to-night," 
said  Krishna.  "  And  when  all  is  done,  what  profit? 
To-morrow  sees  them  at  work.  Ay,  if  ye  swept  the 
bridge  out  from  end  to  end  they  would  begin  anew. 
Hear  me !  Bhairon  is  drunk  always.  Hanuman  mocks 
his  people  with  new  riddles." 

"Nay,  but  they  are  very  old  ones,"  the  Ape  said, 
laughing. 

"  Shiv  hears  the  talk  of  the  schools  and  the  dreams  of 
the  holy  men;  Ganesh  thinks  only  of  his  fat  traders;  but 
I— I  live  with  these  my  people,  asking  for  no  gifts,  and 
so  receiving  them  hourly. ' ' 

"  And  very  tender  art  thou  of  thy  people,"  said  the 
Tigress. 

"  They  are  my  own.  The  old  women  dream  of  me 
[38] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

turning  in  their  sleep ;  the  maids  look  and  listen  for  me 
when  they  go  to  fill  their  lotahs  by  the  river.  I  walk  by 
the  young  men  waiting  without  the  gates  at  dusk,  and 
I  call  over  my  shoulder  to  the  white-beards.  Ye  know, 
Heavenly  Ones,  that  I  alone  of  us  all  walk  upon  the  earth 
continually,  and  have  no  pleasure  in  our  heavens  so  long 
as  a  green  blade  springs  here,  or  there  are  two  voices  at 
twilight  in  the  standing  crops.  Wise  are  ye,  but  ye  live 
far  off,  forgetting  whence  ye  came.  So  do  I  not  forget. 
And  the  fire-carriage  feeds  your  shrines,  ye  say?  And 
the  fire-carriages  bring  a  thousand  pilgrims  where  but 
ten  came  in  the  old  years?  True.  That  is  true,  to-day. ' ' 

"But  to-morrow  they  are  dead,  brother,"  said 
Ganesh. 

"  Peace!  "  said  the  Bull,  as  Hanuman  leaned  forward 
again.  "  And  to-morrow,  beloved— what  of  to-morrow? " 

"  This  only.  A  new  word  creeping  from  mouth  to 
mouth  among  the  Common  Folk — a  word  that  neither 
man  nor  God  can  lay  hold  of —an  evil  word— a  little  lazy 
word  among  the  Common  Folk,  saying  (and  none  know 
who  set  that  word  afoot)  that  they  weary  of  ye,  Heav 
enly  Ones." 

The  Gods  laughed  together  softly.  "  And  then,  be 
loved?  "  they  said. 

* '  And  to  cover  that  weariness  they,  my  people,  will 
bring  to  thee,  Shiv,  and  to  thee,  Ganesh,  at  first  greater 
offerings  and  a  louder  noise  of  worship.  But  the  word 
has  gone  abroad,  and,  after,  they  will  pay  fewer  dues  to 
your  fat  Brahmins.  Next  they  will  forget  your  altars, 
but  so  slowly  that  no  man  can  say  how  his  f  orgetf  ulness 
began." 

[39] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

"  I  knew— I  knew!  I  spoke  this  also,  but  they  would 
not  hear,"  said  the  Tigress.  "  We  should  have  slain— 
we  should  have  slain!  " 

"It  is  too  late  now.  Ye  should  have  slain  at  the  be 
ginning  when  the  men  from  across  the  water  had  taught 
our  folk  nothing.  Now  my  people  see  their  work,  and  go 
away  thinking.  They  do  not  think  of  the  Heavenly 
Ones  altogether.  They  think  of  the  fire-carriage  and 
the  other  things  that  the  bridge-builders  have  done,  and 
when  your  priests  thrust  forward  hands  asking  alms, 
they  give  a  little  unwillingly.  That  is  the  beginning, 
among  one  or  two,  or  five  or  ten— for  I,  moving  among 
my  people,  know  what  is  in  their  hearts." 

"  And  the  end,  Jester  of  the  Gods?  What  shall  the 
end  be? "  said  Ganesh. 

"  The  end  shall  be  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  O  sloth 
ful  son  of  Shiv !  The  flame  shall  die  upon  the  altars  and 
the  prayer  upon  the  tongue  till  ye  become  little  Gods 
again— Gods  of  the  jungle— names  that  the  hunters  of 
rats  and  noosers  of  dogs  whisper  in  the  thicket  and 
among  the  caves— rag- Gods,  pot  Godlings  of  the  tree, 
and  the  village-mark,  as  ye  were  at  the  beginning.  That 
is  the  end,  Ganesh,  for  thee,  and  for  Bhairon— Bhairon 
of  the  Common  People." 

"  It  is  very  far  away,"  grunted  Bhairon.  "  Also,  it 
is  a  lie." 

"  Many  women  have  kissed  Krishna.  They  told  him 
this  to  cheer  their  own  hearts  when  the  grey  hairs  came, 
and  he  has  told  us  the  tale,"  said  the  Bull,  below  his 
breath. 

*  *  Their  Gods  came,  and  we  changed  them.  I  took  the 
[40] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Woman  and  made  her  twelve-armed.  So  shall  we  twist 
all  their  Gods, ' '  said  Hanuman. 

"  Their  Gods!  This  is  no  question  of  their  Gods— one 
or  three — man  or  woman*.  The  matter  is  with  the 
people.  They  move,  and  not  the  Gods  of  the  bridge- 
builders,"  said  Krishna. 

4  *  So  be  it.  I  have  made  a  man  worship  the  fire-car 
riage  as  it  stood  still  breathing  smoke,  and  he  knew  not 
that  he  worshipped  me, ' '  said  Hanuman  the  Ape.  ' '  They 
will  only  change  a  little  the  names  of  their  Gods.  I  shall 
lead  the  builders  of  the  bridges  as  of  old;  Shiv  shall  be 
worshipped  in  the  schools  by  such  as  doubt  and  despise 
their  fellows;  Ganesh  shall  have  his  mahajuns,  and 
Bhairon  the  donkey-drivers,  the  pilgrims,  and  the  sellers 
of  toys.  Beloved,  they  will  do  no  more  than  change  the 
names,  and  that  we  have  seen  a  thousand  times." 

4  *  Surely  they  will  do  no  more  than  change  the  names, ' ' 
echoed  Ganesh;  but  there  was  an  uneasy  movement 
among  the  Gods. 

"  They  will  change  more  than  the  names.  Me  alone 
they  cannot  kill,  so  long  as  a  maiden  and  a  man  meet 
together  or  the  spring  follows  the  winter  rains.  Heav 
enly  Ones,  not  for  nothing  have  I  walked  upon  the  earth. 
My  people  know  not  now  what  they  know;  but  I,  who 
live  with  them,  I  read  their  hearts.  Great  Kings,  the 
beginning  of  the  end  is  born  already.  The  fire-carriages 
shout  the  names  of  new  Gods  that  are  not  the  old  under 
new  names.  Drink  now  and  eat  greatly!  Bathe  your 
faces  in  the  smoke  of  the  altars  before  they  grow  cold ! 
Take  dues  and  listen  to  the  cymbals  and  the  drums, 
Heavenly  Ones,  while  yet  there  are  flowers  and  songs. 
[41] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

As  men  count  time  the  end  is  far  off;  but  as  we  who 
know  reckon  it  is  to-day.  I  have  spoken." 

The  young  God  ceased,  and  his  brethren  looked  at  each 
other  long  in  silence. 

' '  This  I  have  not  heard  before, ' '  Peroo  whispered  in 
his  companion's  ear.  "And  yet  sometimes,  when  I 
oiled  the  brasses  in  the  engine-room  of  the  Goorkha,  I 
have  wondered  if  our  priests  were  so  wise— so  wise. 
The  day  is  coming,  Sahib.  They  will  be  gone  by  the 
morning." 

A  yellow  light  broadened  in  the  sky,  and  the  tone  of 
the  river  changed  as  the  darkness  withdrew. 

Suddenly  the  Elephant  trumpeted  aloud  as  though 
man  had  goaded  him. 

"  Let  Indra  judge.  Father  of  all,  speak  thou!  What 
of  the  things  we  have  heard?  Has  Krishna  lied  in 
deed?  Or-" 

"  Ye  know,"  said  the  Buck,  rising  to  his  feet.  "  Ye 
know  the  Riddle  of  the  Gods.  When  Brahm  ceases  to 
dream,  the  Heavens  and  the  Hells  and  Earth  disappear. 
Be  content.  Brahm  dreams  still.  The  dreams  come  and 
go,  and  the  nature  of  the  dreams  changes,  but  still 
Brahm  dreams.  Krishna  has  walked  too  long  upon 
earth,  and  yet  I  love  him  the  more  for  the  tale  he  has 
told.  The  Gods  change,  beloved— all  save  One!  " 

"  Ay,  all  save  one  that  makes  love  in  the  hearts  of 
men,"  said  Krishna,  knotting  his  girdle.  "  It  is  but  a 
little  time  to  wait,  and  ye  shall  know  if  I  lie." 

"  Truly  it  is  but  a  little  time,  as  thou  sayest,  and  we 
shall  know.  Get  thee  to  thy  huts  again,  beloved,  and 
make  sport  for  the  young  things,  for  still  Brahm  dreams. 
[42] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Go,  my  children!    Brahm  dreams— and  till  he  wakes 
the  Gods  die  not.'* 

********** 

"  Whither  went  they? "  said  the  Lascar,  awe-struck, 
shivering  a  little  with  the  cold. 

"  God  knows!  "  said  Findlayson.  The  river  and  the 
island  lay  in  full  daylight  now,  and  there  was  never 
mark  of  hoof  or  pug  on  the  wet  earth  under  the  peepul. 
Only  a  parrot  screamed  in  the  branches,  bringing  down 
showers  of  water-drops  as  he  fluttered  his  wings. 

"Up!  We  are  cramped  with  cold!  Has  the  opium 
died  out?  Canst  thou  move,  Sahib?  " 

Findlayson  staggered  to  his  feet  and  shook  himself. 
His  head  swam  and  ached,  but  the  work  of  the  opium 
was  over,  and,  as  he  sluiced  his  forehead  in  a  pool,  the 
Chief  Engineer  of  the  Kashi  Bridge  was  wondering  how 
he  had  managed  to  fall  upon  the  island,  what  chances 
the  day  offered  of  return,  and,  above  all,  how  his  work 
stood. 

"  Peroo,  I  have  forgotten  much.  I  was  under  the 
guard-tower  watching  the  river;  and  then.  .  .  .  Did 
the  flood  sweep  us  away?" 

"No.  The  boats  broke  loose,  Sahib,  and"  (if  the 
Sahib  had  forgotten  about  the  opium,  decidedly  Peroo 
would  not  remind  him)  "  in  striving  to  retie  them,  so  it 
seemed  to  me— but  it  was  dark— a  rope  caught  the  Sahib 
and  threw  him  upon  a  boat.  Considering  that  we  two, 
with  Hitchcock  Sahib,  built,  as  it  were,  that  bridge,  I 
came  also  upon  the  boat,  which  came  riding  on  horse 
back,  as  it  were,  on  the  nose  of  this  island,  and  so,  split 
ting,  cast  us  ashore.  I  made  a  great  cry  when  the  boat 
[43] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

left  the  wharf,  and  without  doubt  Hitchcock  Sahib  will 
come  for  us.  As  for  the  bridge,  so  many  have  died  in  the 
building  that  it  cannot  fall." 

A  fierce  sun,  that  drew  out  all  the  smell  of  the 
sodden  land,  had  followed  the  storm,  and  in  that  clear 
light  there  was  no  room  for  a  man  to  think  of  the  dreams 
of  the  dark.  Findlayson  stared  up-stream,  across  the 
blaze  of  moving  water,  till  his  eyes  ached.  There  was 
no  sign  of  any  bank  to  the  Ganges,  much  less  of  a  bridge- 
line. 

"  We  came  down  far,"  he  said.  "  It  was  wonderful 
that  we  were  not  drowned  a  hundred  times." 

"  That  was  the  least  of  the  wonder,  for  no  man  dies 
before  his  time.  I  have  seen  Sydney,  I  have  seen  Lon 
don,  and  twenty  great  ports,  but " — Peroo  looked  at  the 
damp,  discoloured  shrine  under  the  peepul— "  never  man 
has  seen  that  we  saw  here." 

44  What?" 

"  Has  the  Sahib  forgotten;  or  do  we  black  men  only 
see  the  Gods?" 

"  There  was  a  fever  upon  me."  Findlayson  was  still 
looking  uneasily  across  the  water.  ' '  It  seemed  that  the 
island  was  full  of  beasts  and  men  talking,  but  I  do  not 
remember.  A  boat  could  live  in  this  water  now,  I  think. ' ' 

' '  Oho !  Then  it  is  true.  '  When  Brahm  ceases  to  dream, 
the  Gods  die.'  Now  I  know,  indeed,  what  he  meant. 
Once,  too,  the  guru  said  as  much  to  me ;  but  then  I  did 
not  understand.  Now  I  am  wise." 

"  What?  "  said  Findlayson,  over  his  shoulder. 

Peroo  went  on  as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself.  "  Six 
—seven— ten  monsoons  since,  I  was  watch  on  the  fo'c'sle 
[44] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

of  the  Eewdh— the  Kumpani's  big  boat— and  there  was 
a  big  tufan;  green  and  black  water  beating,  and  I  held 
fast  to  the  life-lines,  choking  under  the  waters.  Then  I 
thought  of  the  Gods— of  Those  whom  we  saw  to-night " 
—he  stared  curiously  at  Findlayson's  back,  but  the 
white  man  was  looking  across  the  flood.  "  Yes,  I  say 
of  Those  whom  we  saw  this  night  past,  and  I  called  upon 
Them  to  protect  me.  And  while  I  prayed,  still  keeping 
my  lookout,  a  big  wave  came  and  threw  me  forward 
upon  the  ring  of  the  great  black  bow-anchor,  and  the 
Rewah  rose  high  and  high,  leaning  towards  the  left-hand 
side,  and  the  water  drew  away  from  beneath  her  nose, 
and  I  lay  upon  my  belly,  holding  the  ring,  and  looking 
down  into  those  great  deeps.  Then  I  thought,  even  in 
the  face  of  death :  If  I  lose  hold  I  die,  and  for  me  neither 
the  Rewah  nor  my  place  by  the  galley  where  the  rice  is 
cooked,  nor  Bombay,  nor  Calcutta,  nor  even  London, 
will  be  any  more  for  me.  '  How  shall  I  be  sure, '  I  said, 
'  that  the  Gods  to  whom  I  pray  will  abide  at  all? '  This 
I  thought,  and  the  Rewah  dropped  her  nose  as  a  ham 
mer  falls,  and  all  the  sea  came  in  and  slid  me  back 
wards  along  the  fo'c'sle  and  over  the  break  of  the 
fo'c'sle,  and  I  very  badly  bruised  my  shin  against  the 
donkey-engine:  but  I  did  not  die,  and  I  have  seen 
the  Gods.  They  are  good  for  live  men,  but  for  the 
dead  .  .  .  They  have  spoken  Themselves.  Therefore, 
when  I  come  to  the  village  I  will  beat  the  guru  for 
talking  riddles  which  are  no  riddles.  When  Brahm 
ceases  to  dream  the  Gods  go." 

"  Look  up-stream.    The  light  blinds.    Is  there  smoke 
yonder? " 

[45] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Peroo  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands.  "  He  is  a  wise 
man  and  quick.  Hitchcock  Sahib  would  not  trust  a 
rowboat.  He  has  borrowed  the  Rao  Sahib's  steam- 
launch,  and  comes  to  look  for  us.  I  have  always  said 
that  there  should  have  been  a  steam-launch  on  the  bridge 
works  for  us." 

The  territory  of  the  Rao  of  Baraon  lay  within  ten  miles 
of  the  bridge;  and  Findlayson  and  Hitchcock  had  spent 
a  fair  portion  of  their  scanty  leisure  in  playing  billiards 
and  shooting  black-buck  with  the  young  man.  He  had 
been  bear-led  by  an  English  tutor  of  sporting  tastes  for 
some  five  or  six  years,  and  was  now  royally  wasting 
the  revenues  accumulated  during  his  minority  by  the 
Indian  Government.  His  steam-launch,  with  its  silver- 
plated  rails,  striped  silk  awning,  and  mahogany  decks, 
was  a  new  toy  which  Findlayson  had  found  horribly 
in  the  way  when  the  Rao  came  to  look  at  the  bridge 
works. 

"  It 's  great  luck,"  murmured  Findlayson,  but  he  was 
none  the  less  afraid,  wondering  what  news  might  be  of 
the  bridge. 

The  gaudy  blue  and  white  funnel  came  down-stream 
swiftly.  They  could  see  Hitchcock  in  the  bows,  with 
a  pair  of  opera-glasses,  and  his  face  was  unusually 
white.  Then  Peroo  hailed,  and  the  launch  made  for 
the  tail  of  the  island.  The  Rao  Sahib,  in  tweed  shoot 
ing-suit  and  a  seven-hued  turban,  waved  his  royal 
hand,  and  Hitchcock  shouted.  But  he  need  have  asked 
no  questions,  for  Findlay son's  first  demand  was  for  his 
bridge. 

* '  All  serene !  ' Gad,  I  never  expected  to  see  you  again, 
[46] 


THE    BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

Findlayson.  You  're  seven  koss  down-stream.  Yes; 
there  's  not  a  stone  shifted  anywhere;  but  how  are  you? 
I  borrowed  the  Rao  Sahib's  launch,  and  he  was  good 
enough  to  come  along.  Jump  in." 

"Ah,  Finlinson,  you  are  very  well,  eh?  That  was 
most  unprecedented  calamity  last  night,  eh?  My  royal 
palace,  too,  it  leaks  like  the  devil,  and  the  crops  will 
also  be  short  all  about  my  country.  Now  you  shall 
back  her  out,  Hitchcock.  I— I  do  not  understand  steam- 
engines.  You  are  wet?  You  are  cold,  Finlinson?  I 
have  some  things  to  eat  here,  and  you  will  take  a  good 
drink." 

"  I  'm  immensely  grateful,  Rao  Sahib.  I  believe 
you  've  saved  my  life.  How  did  Hitchcock — " 

"  Oho!  His  hair  was  upon  end.  He  rode  to  me  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  woke  me  up  in  the  arms  of 
Morpheus.  I  was  most  truly  concerned,  Finlinson,  so  I 
came  too.  My  head-priest  he  is  very  angry  just  now. 
We  will  go  quick,  Mister  Hitchcock.  I  am  due  to  attend 
at  twelve  forty-five  in  the  state  temple,  where  we 
sanctify  some  new  idol.  If  not  so  I  would  have  asked 
you  to  spend  the  day  with  me.  They  are  dam-bore, 
these  religious  ceremonies,  Finlinson,  eh?" 

Peroo,  well  known  to  the  crew,  had  possessed  himself 
of  the  inlaid  wheel,  and  was  taking  the  launch  craftily 
up-stream.  But  while  he  steered  he  was,  in  his  mind, 
handling  two  feet  of  partially  untwisted  wire-rope ;  and 
the  back  upon  which  he  beat  was  the  back  cf  his  guru. 


[47] 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 


A  WALKING  DELEGATE 

ACCORDING  to  the  custom  of  Vermont,  Sunday  after- 
JLJL  noon  is  salting-time  on  the  farm,  and,  unless  some 
thing  very  important  happens,  we  attend  to  the  salting 
ourselves.  Dave  and  Pete,  the  red  oxen,  are  treated 
first;  they  stay  in  the  home  meadow  ready  for  work  on 
Monday.  Then  come  the  cows,  with  Pan,  the  calf,  who 
should  have  been  turned  into  veal  long  ago,  but  survived 
on  account  of  his  manners;  and  lastly  the  horses,  scat 
tered  through  the  seventy  acres  of  the  Back  Pasture. 

You  must  go  down  by  the  brook  that  feeds  the  click 
ing,  bubbling  water-ram;  up  through  the  sugar-bush, 
where  the  young  maple  undergrowth  closes  round  you 
like  a  shallow  sea;  next  follow  the  faint  line  of  an  old 
county-road  running  past  two  green  hollows  fringed 
with  wild  rose  that  mark  the  cellars  of  two  ruined 
houses;  then  by  Lost  Orchard,  where  nobody  ever 
comes  except  hi  cider- time ;  then  across  another  brook, 
and  so  into  the  Back  Pasture.  Half  of  it  is  pine  and 
hemlock  and  spruce,  with  sumach  and  little  juniper- 
bushes,  and  the  other  half  is  grey  rock  and  boulder  and 
moss,  with  green  streaks  of  brake  and  swamp;  but  the 
[51] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

horses  like  it  well  enough— our  own,  and  the  others  that 
are  turned  down  there  to  feed  at  fifty  cents  a  week. 
Most  people  walk  to  the  Back  Pasture,  and  find  it  very 
rough  work;  but  one  can  get  there  in  a  buggy,  if  the 
horse  knows  what  is  expected  of  him.  The  safest  con 
veyance  is  our  coupe.  This  began  life  as  a  buckboard, 
and  we  bought  it  for  five  dollars  from  a  sorrowful  man 
who  had  no  other  sort  of  possessions;  and  the  seat 
came  off  one  night  when  we  were  turning  a  corner  in  a 
hurry.  After  that  alteration  it  made  a  beautiful  salting- 
machine,  if  you  held  tight,  because  there  was  nothing 
to  catch  your  feet  when  you  fell  out,  and  the  slats 
rattled  tunes. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  we  went  out  with  the  salt  as 
usual.  It  was  a  broiling  hot  day,  and  we  could  not  find 
the  horses  anywhere  till  we  let  Tedda  Gabler,  the  bob- 
tailed  mare  who  throws  up  the  dirt  with  her  big  hooves 
exactly  as  a  tedder  throws  hay,  have  her  head.  Clever 
as  she  is,  she  tipped  the  coup6  over  in  a  hidden  brook 
before  she  came  out  on  a  ledge  of  rock  where  all  the 
horses  had  gathered,  and  were  switching  flies.  The 
Deacon  was  the  first  to  call  to  her.  He  is  a  very  dark 
iron-grey  four-year-old,  son  of  Grandee.  He  has  been 
handled  since  he  was  two,  was  driven  in  a  light  cart 
before  he  was  three,  and  now  ranks  as  an  absolutely 
steady  lady's  horse— proof  against  steam-rollers,  grade- 
crossings,  and  street  processions. 

"  Salt!  "  said  the  Deacon,  joyfully.  "  You  're  dreflfle 
late,  Tedda." 

" Any— any  place  to  cramp  the  coupe"?"  Tedda 
panted.  "  It  weighs  turr'ble  this  weather.  I  'd  'a' 
[52] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

come  sooner,  but  they  did  n't  know  what  they  wanted 
— ner  haow.  Fell  out  twice,  both  of  'em.  I  don't 
understand  sech  foolishness." 

"  You  look  consider'ble  het  up.  'Guess  you  'd  better 
cramp  her  under  them  pines,  an'  cool  off  a  piece." 

Tedda  scrambled  on  the  ledge,  and  cramped  the  coupe* 
in  the  shade  of  a  tiny  little  wood  of  pines,  while  my 
companion  and  I  lay  down  among  the  brown,  silky 
needles,  and  gasped.  All  the  home  horses  were  gath 
ered  round  us,  enjoying  their  Sunday  leisure. 

There  were  Eod  and  Eick,  the  seniors  on  the  farm. 
They  were  the  regular  road-pair,  bay  with  black  points, 
full  brothers,  aged,  sons  of  a  Hambletonian  sire  and  a 
Morgan  dam.  There  were  Nip  and  Tuck,  seal-browns, 
rising  six,  brother  and  sister,  Black  Hawks  by  birth, 
perfectly  matched,  just  finishing  their  education,  and 
as  handsome  a  pair  as  man  could  wish  to  find  in  a 
forty-mile  drive.  There  was  Muldoon,  our  ex-car-horse, 
bought  at  a  venture,  and  any  colour  you  choose  that  is 
not  white;  and  Tweezy,  who  comes  from  Kentucky, 
with  an  affliction  of  his  left  hip,  which  makes  him  a 
little  uncertain  how  his  hind  legs  are  moving.  He  and 
Muldoon  had  been  hauling  gravel  all  the  week  for  our 
new  road.  The  Deacon  you  know  already.  Last  of 
all,  and  eating  something,  was  our  faithful  Marcus 
Aurelius  Antoninus,  the  black  buggy-horse,  who  had 
seen  us  through  every  state  of  weather  and  road,  the 
horse  who  was  always  standing  in  harness  before  some 
door  or  other— a  philosopher  with  the  appetite  of  a 
shark  and  the  manners  of  an  archbishop.  Tedda  Gabler 
was  a  new  "  trade,"  with  a  reputation  for  vice  which 
[53] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

was  really  the  result  of  bad  driving.  She  had  one 
working  gait,  which  she  could  hold  till  further  notice; 
a  Eoman  nose;  a  large,  prominent  eye;  a  shaving- 
brush  of  a  tail;  and  an  irritable  temper.  She  took  her 
salt  through  her  bridle;  but  the  others  trotted  up  nuz 
zling  and  wickering  for  theirs,  till  we  emptied  it  on  the 
clean  rocks.  They  were  all  standing  at  ease,  on  three 
legs  for  the  most  part,  talking  the  ordinary  gossip  of 
the  Back  Pasture— about  the  scarcity  of  water,  and 
gaps  in  the  fence,  and  how  the  early  windfalls  tasted 
that  season— when  little  Rick  blew  the  last  few  grains 
of  his  allowance  into  a  crevice,  and  said : 

"  Hurry,  boys!  'Might  ha'  knowed  that  livery-plug 
would  be  around." 

We  heard  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  there  climbed  up  from 
the  ravine  below  a  fifty-center  transient— a  wall-eyed, 
yellow  frame-house  of  a  horse,  sent  up  to  board  from 
a  livery-stable  in  town,  where  they  called  him  "The 
Lamb,"  and  never  let  him  out  except  at  night  and  to 
strangers.  My  companion,  who  knew  and  had  broken 
most  of  the  horses,  looked  at  the  ragged  hammer-head 
as  it  rose,  and  said  quietly : 

"  Ni-ice  beast.  Man-eater,  if  he  gets  the  chance— see 
his  eye.  Kicker,  too— see  his  hocks.  Western  horse." 

The  animal  lumbered  up,  snuffling  and  grunting.  His 
feet  showed  that  he  had  not  worked  for  weeks  and 
weeks,  and  our  creatures  drew  together  significantly. 

"As  usual,"  he  said,  with  an  underhung  sneer— 
"  bowin'  your  heads  before  the  Oppressor  that  comes  to 
spend  his  leisure  gloatin'  over  you." 

"Mine's  done,"  said  the  Deacon;  he  licked  up  the 
[54] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

remnant  of  his  salt,  dropped  his  nose  in  his  master's 
hand,  and  sang  a  little  grace  all  to  himself.  The  Dea 
con  has  the  most  enchanting  manners  of  any  one  I  know. 

"  An'  fawnin'  on  them  for  what  is  your  inalienable 
right.  It 's  humiliatin',"  said  the  yellow  horse,  sniffing 
to  see  if  he  could  find  a  few  spare  grains. 

"Go  daown  hill,  then,  Boney,"  the  Deacon  replied. 
"  Guess  you  '11  find  somefin'  to  eat  still,  if  yer  hain't 
hogged  it  all.  You  've  ett  more  'n  any  three  of  us  to 
day—an'  day  'fore  that— an'  the  last  two  months— 
sence  you  've  been  here." 

• "  I  am  not  addressin'  myself  to  the  young  an'  imma- 
ture.  I  am  speakin'  to  those  whose  opinion  cm'  experi 
ence  commands  respect." 

I  saw  Rod  raise  his  head  as  though  he  were  about  to 
make  a  remark;  then  he  dropped  it  again,  and  stood 
three-cornered,  like  a  plough-horse.  Rod  can  cover  his 
mile  in  a  shade  under  three  minutes  on  an  ordinary 
road  to  an  ordinary  buggy.  He  is  tremendously  power 
ful  behind,  but,  like  most  Hambletonians,  he  grows  a 
trifle  sullen  as  he  gets  older.  No  one  can  love  Rod  very 
much;  but  no  one  can  help  respecting  him. 

"  I  wish  to  wake  those,"  the  yellow  horse  went  on,  "  to 
an  abidin'  sense  o'  their  wrongs  an'  their  injuries  an' 
their  outrages. " 

"  Haow  's  that?"  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus, 
dreamily.  He  thought  Boney  was  talking  of  some  kind 
of  feed. 

"An'  when  I  say  outrages  and  injuries"— Boney 
waved  his  tail  furiously—"  I  mean  'em,  too.     Great 
Oats !    That 's  just  what  I  do  mean,  plain  an'  straight. ' ' 
[55] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  The  gentleman  talks  quite  earnest,"  said  Tuck,  the 
mare,  to  Nip,  her  brother.  "  There  's  no  doubt  thinkin' 
broadens  the  horizons  o'  the  mind.  His  language  is  quite 
lofty." 

"  Hesh,  sis,"  Nip  answered.  "  He  hain't  widened 
nothin'  'cep'  the  circle  he  's  ett  in  pasture.  They  feed 
words  fer  beddin'  where  he  comes  from." 

"It  's  elegant  talkin',  though,"  Tuck  returned,  with 
an  unconvinced  toss  of  her  pretty,  lean  little  head. 

The  yellow  horse  heard  her,  and  struck  an  attitude 
which  he  meant  to  be  extremely  impressive.  It  made 
him  look  as  though  he  had  been  badly  stuifed. 

"Now  I  ask  you — I  ask  you  without  prejudice  an' 
without  favour,  —what  has  Man  the  Oppressor  ever  done 
for  you?  Are  you  not  inalienably  entitled  to  the  free  air 
o'  heaven,  bio  win'  acrost  this  boundless  prairie? " 

"  Hev  ye  ever  wintered  here?  "  said  the  Deacon,  mer 
rily,  while  the  others  snickered.  "It  's  kinder  cool." 

4 '  Not  yet, ' '  said  Boney .  * '  I  come  from  the  boundless 
confines  o'  Kansas,  where  the  noblest  of  our  kind  have 
their  abidin' -place  among  the  sunflowers  on  the  thresh 
old  o'  the  settin'  sun  in  his  glory." 

"  An'  they  sent  you  ahead  as  a  sample? "  said  Eick, 
with  an  amused  quiver  of  his  long,  beautifully  groomed 
tail,  as  thick  and  as  fine  and  as  wavy  as  a  quadroon's 
back  hair. 

"  Kansas,  sir,  needs  no  advertisement.  Her  native 
sons  rely  on  themselves  an'  their  native  sires.  Yes,  sir. ' ' 

Then  Tweezy  lifted  up  his  wise  and  polite  old  head. 
His  affliction  makes  him  bashful  as  a  rule,  but  he  is 
ever  the  most  courteous  of  horses. 
[56] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"Excuse  me,  suh,"  he  said  slowly,  "but,  unless  I 
have  been  misinfohmed,  most  of  your  prominent  siahs, 
suh,  are  impo'ted  from  Kentucky;  an'  I  'm  from 
Paduky." 

There  was  the  least  little  touch  of  pride  in  the  last 
words. 

"Any  horse  dat  knows  beans,"  said  Muldoon,  sud 
denly  (he  had  been  standing  with  his  hairy  chin  on 
Tweezy's  broad  quarters),  "  gits  outer  Kansas  'fore  dey 
crip  his  shoes.  I  blew  in  dere  from  loway  in  de  days 
o'  me  youth  an'  innocence,  an'  I  wuz  grateful  when 
dey  boxed  me  fer  N'  York.  You  can't  tell  me  anything 
about  Kansas  I  don't  wanter  fergit.  De  Belt  Line 
stables  ain't  no  Hoffman  House,  but  dey  're  Vander- 
bilt's  'longside  o'  Kansas." 

"  What  the  horses  o'  Kansas  think  to-day,  the  horses 
of  America  will  think  to-morrow;  an'  I  tell  you  that 
when  the  horses  of  America  rise  in  their  might,  the  day 
o'  the  Oppressor  is  ended." 

There  was  a  pause,  till  Rick  said,  with  a  little  grunt : 

' '  Ef  you  put  it  that  way,  every  one  of  us  has  riz  in 
his  might,  'cep'  Marcus,  mebbe.  Marky,  'j  ever  rise  in 
yer  might?" 

' '  Nope, ' '  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  thought 
fully  quidding  over  a  mouthful  of  grass.  "I  seen  a 
heap  o'  fools  try,  though." 

"  You  admit  that  you  riz? "  said  the  Kansas  horse,  ex 
citedly.  "  Then  why— why  in  Kansas  did  you  ever  go 
under  again?" 

' '  'Horse  can't  walk  on  his  hind  legs  all  the  time, ' '  said 
the  Deacon. 

[57] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  Not  when  he  's  jerked  over  on  his  back  'fore  he 
knows  what  fetched  him.  We  've  all  done  it,  Boney," 
said  Rick.  "  Nip  an'  Tuck  they  tried  it,  spite  o'  what 
the  Deacon  told  'em;  an'  the  Deacon  he  tried  it,  spite  o' 
what  me  an'  Rod  told  him;  an'  me  an'  Rod  tried  it,  spite 
o'  what  Grandee  told  us;  an'  I  guess  Grandee  he  tried  it, 
spite  o'  what  his  dam  told  him.  It  's  the  same  old  cir 
cus  from  generation  to  generation.  'Colt  can't  see  why 
he  's  called  on  to  back.  Same  old  rearin'  on  end- 
straight  up.  Same  old  feelin'  that  you  've  bested  'em 
this  time.  Same  old  little  yank  at  yer  mouth  when 
you  're  up  good  an'  tall.  Same  old  Pegasus-act,  won- 
derin'  where  you  '11  'light.  Same  old  wop  when  you  hit 
the  dirt  with  your  head  where  your  tail  should  be,  and 
your  in'ards  shook  up  like  a  bran-mash.  Same  old  voice 
in  your  ear:  *  Waal,  ye  little  fool,  an'  what  did  you 
reckon  to  make  by  that? '  We  're  through  with  risin'  in 
our  might  on  this  farm.  We  go  to  pole  er  single,  ac- 
cordin'  ez  we  're  hitched." 

"An'  Man  the  Oppressor  sets  an'  gloats  over  you, 
same  as  he  's  settin'  now.  Hain't  that  been  your  ex 
perience,  madam?" 

This  last  remark  was  addressed  to  Tedda;  and  any  one 
could  see  with  half  an  eye  that  poor,  old,  anxious,  fidgety 
Tedda,  stamping  at  the  flies,  must  have  left  a  wild  and 
tumultuous  youth  behind  her. 

' '  'Pends  on  the  man, ' '  she  answered,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  and  addressing  herself  to  the  home 
horses.  "  They  abused  me  dreffle  when  I  was  young. 
I  guess  I  was  sperrity  an'  nervous  some,  but  they  did  n't 
allow  for  that.  'T  was  in  Monroe  County,  Noo  York, 
[58] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

an'  sence  then  till  I  come  here,  I  've  run  away  with 
more  men  than  'u'd  fill  a  boardin' -house.  Why,  the 
man  that  sold  me  here  he  says  to  the  boss,  s'  he: 
'  Mind,  now,  I  've  warned  you.  'T  won't  be  none  of  my 
fault  if  she  sheds  you  daown  the  road.  Don't  you  drive 
her  in  a  top-buggy ,  ner  'thout  winkers,'  s'  he,  'ner  'thout 
this  bit,  ef  you  look  to  come  home  behind  her.'  'N'  the 
fust  thing  the  boss  did  was  to  git  the  top-buggy." 

"  Can't  say  as  I  like  top-buggies,"  said  Rick;  "  they 
don't  balance  good." 

* '  Suit  me  to  a  ha'ar, ' '  said  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus. 
"  Top-buggy  means  the  baby  's  in  behind,  an'  I  kin  stop 
while  she  gathers  the  pretty  flowers— yes,  an'  pick  a 
maouthful,  too.  The  women-folk  all  say  I  hev  to  be  hu 
moured,  an'  —I  don't  kerry  things  to  the  sweatin' -point. ' ' 

"  'Course  I  've  no  prejudice  against  a  top-buggy  s' 
long  's  I  can  see  it,"  Tedda  went  on  quickly.  "It  's 
ha'f-seein'  the  pesky  thing  bobbin'  an'  balancin'  behind 
the  winkers  gits  on  my  nerves.  Then  the  boss  looked 
at  the  bit  they  'd  sold  with  me,  an'  s'  he:  '  Jiminy 
Christmas!  This  'u'd  make  a  clothes-horse  stan'  'n 
end ! '  Then  he  gave  me  a  plain  bar  bit,  an'  fitted  it 's 
if  there  was  some  feelin'  to  my  maouth." 

"  Hain't  ye  got  any,  Miss  Tedda?"  said  Tuck,  who 
has  a  mouth  like  velvet,  and  knows  it. 

"  Might  'a'  had,  Miss  Tuck,  but  I  've  forgot.  Then 
he  give  me  an  open  bridle,— my  style  's  an  open  bridle 
—an'— I  dunno  as  I  ought  to  tell  this  by  rights— he- 
give — me— a  kiss." 

"  My ! "  said  Tuck,  "  I  can't  tell  fer  the  shoes  o'  me 
what  makes  some  men  so  fresh." 
[59] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  Pshaw,  sis,"  said  Nip,  "  what  's  the  sense  in  actin' 
so?  You  git  a  kiss  reg'lar  's  hitchin'-up  time." 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  tell,  smarty,"  said  Tuck,  with  a 
squeal  and  a  kick. 

"  I  'd  heard  o'  kisses,  o'  course,"  Tedda  went  on, 
"but  they  had  n't  come  my  way  specially.  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  I  was  that  took  aback  at  that  man's  doin's 
he  might  ha'  lit  fire-crackers  on  my  saddle.  Then  we 
went  out  jest  's  if  a  kiss  was  nothin',  an'  I  was  n't  three 
strides  into  my  gait  'fore  I  felt  the  boss  knoo  his 
business,  an'  was  trustin'  me.  So  I  studied  to  please 
him,  an'  he  never  took  the  whip  from  the  dash— a  whip 
drives  me  plumb  distracted— an'  the  upshot  was  that 
— waal,  I  've  come  up  the  Back  Pasture  to-day,  an'  the 
coupe  's  tipped  clear  over  twice,  an'  I  've  waited  till 
't  wuz  fixed  each  time.  You  kin  judge  for  yourselves.  I 
don't  set  up  to  be  no  better  than  my  neighbors,— spe 
cially  with  my  tail  snipped  off  the  way 't  is,— but  I  want 
you  all  to  know  Tedda 's  quit  fightin'  in  harness  or  out 
of  it,  'cep'  when  there  's  a  born  fool  in  the  pasture, 
stumn'  his  stummick  with  board  that  ain't  rightly  hisn, 
'cause  he  hain't  earned  it." 

"  Meanin'  me,  madam? "  said  the  yellow  horse. 

"  Ef  the  shoe  fits,  clinch  it,"  said  Tedda,  snorting. 
"  /named  no  names,  though,  to  be  sure,  some  folks  are 
mean  enough  an'  greedy  enough  to  do  'thout  'em." 

"  There  's  a  deal  to  be  forgiven  to  ignorance,"  said  the 
yellow  horse,  with  an  ugly  look  in  his  blue  eye. 

"  Seemin'ly,  yes;  or  some  folks  'u'd  ha'  been  kicked 
raound  the  pasture  'bout  onct  a  minute  sence  they  came 
—board  er  no  board." 

[60] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  But  what  you  do  not  understand,  if  you  will  excuse 
me,  madam,  is  that  the  whole  principle  o'  servitood, 
which  includes  keep  an'  feed,  starts  from  a  radically 
false  basis;  an'  I  am  proud  to  say  that  me  an'  the  ma 
jority  o'  the  horses  o'  Kansas  think  the  entire  concern 
should  be  relegated  to  the  limbo  of  exploded  supersti 
tions.  I  say  we  're  too  progressive  for  that.  I  say 
we  're  too  enlightened  for  that.  'T  was  good  enough  's 
long  's  we  did  n't  think,  but  naow— but  naow— a  new 
loominary  has  arisen  on  the  horizon ! ' ' 

"  Meanin'  you? "  said  the  Deacon. 

"  The  horses  o'  Kansas  are  behind  me  with  their  mul- 
titoodinous  thunderin'  hooves,  an'  we  say,  simply  but 
grandly,  that  we  take  our  stand  with  all  four  feet  on  the 
inalienable  rights  of  the  horse,  pure  and  simple,— the 
high-toned  child  o'  nature,  fed  by  the  same  wavin' 
grass,  cooled  by  the  same  ripplin'  brook,— yes,  an' 
warmed  by  the  same  gen'rous  sun  as  falls  impartially 
on  the  outside  an'  the  mside  of  the  pampered  machine  o' 
the  trottin'-track,  or  the  bloated  coupe-horses  o'  these 
yere  Eastern  cities.  Are  we  not  the  same  flesh  and 
blood?" 

"  Not  by  a  bushel  an'  a  half,"  said  the  Deacon,  under 
his  breath.  "  Grandee  never  was  in  Kansas." 

"  My!  Ain't  that  elegant,  though,  abaout  the  wavin' 
grass  an'  the  ripplin'  brooks?  "  Tuck  whispered  in  Nip's 
ear.  "  The  gentleman  's  real  convincing  J  think." 

"  I  say  we  are  the  same  flesh  an'  blood!    Are  we  to 

be  separated,  horse  from  horse,  by  the  artificial  barriers 

of  a  trottin' -record,  or  are  we  to  look  down  upon  each 

other  on  the  strength  o'  the  gifts  o'  nature— an  extry 

[61] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

inch  below  the  knee,  or  slightly  more  powerful  quarters? 
What  's  the  use  o'  them  advantages  to  you?  Man  the 
Oppressor  comes  along,  an'  sees  you  're  likely  an'  good- 
lookin',  an'  grinds  you  to  the  face  o'  the  earth.  What 
for?  For  his  own  pleasure:  for  his  own  convenience! 
Young  an'  old,  black  an'  bay,  white  an'  grey,  there  's 
no  distinctions  made  between  us.  We  're  ground  up 
together  under  the  remorseless  teeth  o'  the  engines  of 
oppression ! ' ' 

"  Guess  his  breechin'  must  ha'  broke  goin'  daown- 
hill,"  said  the  Deacon.  "  Slippery  road,  maybe,  an'  the 
buggy  come  onter  him,  an'  he  did  n't  know  'nough  to 
hold  back.  That  don't  feel  like  teeth,  though.  Maybe 
he  busted  a  shaft,  an'  it  pricked  him." 

"  An'  I  come  to  you  from  Kansas,  wavin'  the  tail  o' 
friendship  to  all  an'  sundry,  an'  in  the  name  of  the  un 
counted  millions  o'  pure-minded,  high-toned  horses  now 
strugglin'  towards  the  light  o'  freedom,  I  say  to  you, 
Eub  noses  with  us  in  our  sacred  an'  holy  cause.  The 
power  is  yourn.  Without  you,  I  say,  Man  the  Oppres 
sor  cannot  move  himself  from  place  to  place.  Without 
you  he  cannot  reap,  he  cannot  sow,  he  cannot  plough." 

"  Mighty  odd  place,  Kansas!  "  said  Marcus  Aurelius 
Antoninus.  "  Seemin'ly  they  reap  in  the  spring  an' 
plough  in  the  fall.  'Guess  it  's  right  fer  them,  but 
't  would  make  me  kinder  giddy." 

"The  produc's  of  your  untirin'  industry  would  rot 
on  the  ground  if  you  did  not  weakly  consent  to  help 
him.  Let  'em  rot,  I  say!  Let  him  call  you  to  the 
stables  in  vain  an'  nevermore!  Let  him  shake  his 
ensnarin'  oats  under  your  nose  in  vain !  Let  the  Brah- 
[62] 


A    WA'LKING    DELEGATE 

mas  roost  in  the  buggy,  an'  the  rats  run  riot  round  the 
reaper!  Let  him  walk  on  his  two  hind  feet  tUl  they 
blame  well  drop  off!  Win  no  more  soul-destroyin1 
races  for  his  pleasure!  Then,  an'  not  till  then,  will 
Man  the  Oppressor  know  where  he  's  at.  Quit  workin', 
fellow-sufferers  an' slaves !  Kick!  Rear!  Plunge!  Lie 
down  on  the  shafts,  an'  woller!  Smash  an'  destroy! 
The  conflict  will  be  but  short,  an'  the  victory  is  certain. 
After  that  we  can  press  our  inalienable  rights  to  eight 
quarts  o'  oats  a  day,  two  good  blankets,  an'  a  fly-net 
an'  the  best  o'  stablin'." 

The  yellow  horse  shut  his  yellow  teeth  with  a  tri 
umphant  snap;  and  Tuck  said,  with  a  sigh:  "  Seems  's 
if  somethin'  ought  to  be  done.  Don't  seem  right,  some 
how,— oppressin'  us  an'  all, — to  my  way  o'  thinkin'." 

Said  Muldoon,  in  a  far-away  and  sleepy  voice:  "  "Who 
in  Vermont  's  goin'  to  haul  de  inalienable  oats?  Dey 
weigh  like  Sam  Hill,  an'  sixty  bushel  at  dat  allowance 
ain't  goin'  to  last  free  weeks  here.  An'  dere  's  de 
winter  hay  for  five  mont's!" 

u  We  can  settle  those  minor  details  when  the  great 
cause  is  won,"  said  the  yellow  horse.  "  Let  us  return 
simply  but  grandly  to  our  inalienable  rights— the  right 
o'  freedom  on  these  yere  verdant  hills,  an'  no  invijjus 
distinctions  o'  track  an'  pedigree." 

"What  in  stables  'jer  call  an  invijjus  distinction?" 
said  the  Deacon,  stiffly. 

"  Fer  one  thing,  bein'  a  bloated,  pampered  trotter 
jest  because  you  happen  to  be  raised  that  way,  an' 
could  n't  no  more  help  trottin'  than  eatin'." 

"  Do  ye  know  anythin'  about  trotters? ' '  said  the  Deacon. 
[63] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"I  've  seen  'em  trot.  That  was  enough  for  me.  J 
don't  want  to  know  any  more.  Trottin'  's  immoral." 

"  Waal,  I  '11  tell  you  this  much.  They  don't  bloat,  an' 
they  don't  pamp— much.  I  don't  hold  out  to  be  no 
trotter  myself,  though  I  am  free  to  say  I  had  hopes  that 
way— onct.  But  I  do  say,  fer  I  've  seen  'em  trained, 
that  a  trotter  don't  trot  with  his  feet:  he  trots  with 
his  head;  an'  he  does  more  work— ef  you  know  what 
that  is— in  a  week  than  you  er  your  sire  ever  done  in 
all  your  lives.  He  's  everlastingly  at  it,  a  trotter  is; 
an'  when  he  is  n't,  he  's  studyin'  haow.  You  seen  'em 
trot?  Much  you  hevl  You  was  hitched  to  a  rail,  back 
o'  the  stand,  in  a  buckboard  with  a  soap-box  nailed  on 
the  slats,  an'  a  frowzy  buff'lo  atop,  while  your  man 
peddled  rum  fer  lemonade  to  little  boys  as  thought  they 
was  actin'  manly,  till  you  was  both  run  off  the  track 
and  jailed— you  intoed,  shufflin',  sway-backed,  wind- 
suckin'  skate,  you! " 

"Don't  get  het  up,  Deacon,"  said  Tweezy,  quietly. 
"  Now,  suh,  would  you  consider  a  fox- trot,  an'  single- 
foot,  an'  rack,  an'  pace,  cm'  amble,  distinctions  not 
worth  distinguishin' ?  I  assuah  you,  gentlemen,  there 
was  a  time  befo'  I  was  afflicted  in  my  hip,  if  you  '11 
pardon  me,  Miss  Tuck,  when  I  was  quite  celebrated  in 
Paduky  for  all  those  gaits;  an'  in  my  opinion  the  Dea 
con  's  co'rect  when  he  says  that  a  ho'se  of  any  position 
in  society  gets  his  gaits  by  his  haid,  an'  not  by — his,  ah, 
limbs,  Miss  Tuck.  I  reckon  I  'm  very  little  good  now, 
but  I  ym  rememberin'  the  things  I  used  to  do  befo'  I 
took  to  transpo'tin'  real  estate  with  the  help  and  assis 
tance  of  this  gentleman  here."  He  looked  at  Muldoon. 
[64] 


A   WALKING    DELEGATE 

44  Invijjus  arterficial  hind-legs !  "  said  the  ex-car-horse, 
with  a  grunt  of  contempt.  "  On  de  Belt  Line  we  don't 
reckon  no  horse  wuth  his  keep  'less  he  kin  switch  de 
car  off  de  track,  run  her  round  on  de  cobbles,  an'  dump 
her  in  ag'in  ahead  o'  de  truck  what  's  blockin'  him. 
Dere  is  a  way  o'  swinging  yer  quarters  when  de  driver 
says,  4  Yank  her  out,  boys ! '  dat  takes  a  year  to  learn. 
Onct  yer  git  onter  it,  youse  kin  yank  a  cable-car  outer 
a  manhole.  I  don't  advertise  myself  for  no  circus- 
horse,  but  I  knew  dat  trick  better  than  most,  an'  dey 
was  good  to  me  in  de  stables,  fer  I  saved  time  on  de 
Belt— an'  time  *s  what  dey  hunt  in  N'  York." 

**  But  the  simple  child  o'  nature—"  the  yellow  horse 
began. 

u  Oh,  go  an*  unscrew  your  splints!  You  're  talkhV 
through  yer  bandages,"  said  Muldoon,  with  a  horse 
laugh.  tk  Dere  ain't  no  loose-box  for  de  simple  child  o' 
nature  on  de  Belt  Line,  wid  de  Paris  com  in*  in  an'  de 
Teutonic  goin'  out,  an'  de  trucks  an  de'  coupes  sayin' 
things,  an'  de  heavy  freight  movin'  down  fer  de  Boston 
boat  'bout  free  o'clock  of  an  August  afternoon,  in  de 
middle  of  a  hot  wave  when  de  fat  Kanucks  an'  Western 
horses  drops  dead  on  de  block.  De  simple  child  o' 
nature  had  better  chase  himself  inter  de  water.  Every 
man  at  de  end  of  his  lines  is  mad  or  loaded  or  silly,  an* 
de  cop  's  madder  an'  loadeder  an'  sillier  than  de  rest. 
Dey  all  take  it  outer  de  horses.  Dere  's  no  wavin' 
brooks  ner  ripplin'  grass  on  de  Belt  Line.  Run  her 
out  on  de  cobbles  wid  de  sparks  flyin',  an'  stop  when 
de  cop  slugs  you  on  de  bone  o'  yer  nose.  Dat  's 
N'  York;  see?" 

[65] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  I  was  always  told  s'ciety  in  Noo  York  was  dreffle 
refined  an'  high-toned,"  said  Tuck.  "  We  're  lookin'  to 
go  there  one  o'  these  days,  Nip  an'  me." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  see  no  Belt  business  where  you  '11  go, 
miss.  De  man  dat  wants  you  '11  want  you  bad,  an' 
he  '11  summer  you  on  Long  Island  er  at  Newport,  wid  a 
winky-pinky  silver  harness  an'  an  English  coachman. 
You  '11  make  a  star-hitch,  you  an'  yer  brother,  miss. 
But  I  guess  you  won't  have  no  nice  smooth  bar  bit. 
Dey  checks  'em,  an  dey  bangs  deir  tails,  an'  dey  bits 
'em,  de  city  folk,  an'  dey  says  it  's  English,  ye  know, 
and  dey  darsen't  cut  a  horse  loose  'ca'se  o'  de  cops. 
N'  York  's  no  place  fer ahorse,  'less  he  's  on  de  Belt,  an' 
can  go  round  wid  de  boys.  "Wisht  I  was  in  de  Fire 
Department! " 

* '  But  did  you  never  stop  to  consider  the  degradin' 
servitood  of  it  all? "  said  the  yellow  horse. 

u  You  don't  stop  on  the  Belt,  cully.  You  're  stopped. 
An'  we  was  all  in  de  servitood  business,  man  an'  horse, 
an1  Jimmy  dat  sold  de  papers.  Guess  de  passengers 
were  n't  out  to  grass  neither,  by  de  way  dey  acted.  I 
done  my  turn,  an'  I  'm  none  o'  Barnum's  crowd;  but  any 
horse  dat  's  worked  on  de  Belt  four  years  don't  train 
wid  no  simple  child  o'  nature— not  by  de  whole  length 
o'  N'  York." 

"  But  can  it  be  possible  that  with  your  experience, 
and  at  your  time  of  life,  you  do  not  believe  that  all 
horses  are  free  and  equal? "  said  the  yellow  horse. 

"  Not  till  they  're  dead,"  Muldoon  answered  quietly. 
"An'  den  it  depends  on  de  gross  total  o'  buttons  an' 
mucilage  dey  gits  outer  youse  at  Barren  Island." 
[66] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  They  tell  me  you  're  a  prominent  philosopher.'* 
The  yellow  horse  turned  to  Marcus.  ' '  Can  you  deny  a 
basic  and  pivotal  statement  such  as  this? " 

"  I  don't  deny  anything"  said  Marcus  Aurelius  An 
toninus,  cautiously;  "but  ef  you  ast  me,  I  should  say 
't  wuz  more  different  sorts  o'  clipped  oats  of  a  lie  than 
any  thin'  I  've  had  my  teeth  into  sence  I  wuz  foaled." 

"  Are  you  a  horse? "  said  the  yellow  horse. 

"  Them  that  knows  me  best  'low  I  am." 

"Ain't  I  a  horse?" 

"Yep;  one  kind  of." 

"  Then  ain't  you  an'  me  equal? " 

1 '  How  f er  kin  you  go  in  a  day  to  a  loaded  buggy, 
drawin'  five  hundred  pounds? "  Marcus  asked  carelessly. 

* '  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case, ' '  the  yellow 
horse  answered  excitedly. 

"  There  's  nothing  I  know  hez  more  to  do  with  the 
case,"  Marcus  replied. 

"  Kin  ye  yank  a  full  car  outer  de  tracks  ten  times 
in  de  mornin'?  "  said  Muldoon. 

"  Kin  ye  go  to  Keene— forty- two  mile  in  an  afternoon 
—with  a  mate,"  said  Kick,  "an'  turn  out  bright  an1 
early  next  mornin'  ? ' ' 

"Was  there  evah  any  tune  in  your  careah,  suh— I 
am  not  referrin'  to  the  present  circumstances,  but  our 
mutual  glorious  past— when  you  could  carry  a  pretty 
girl  to  market  hahnsome,  an'  let  her  knit  all  the  way  on 
account  o'  the  smoothness  o'  the  motion? "  said  Tweezy. 

"Kin  you  keep  your  feet  through  the  "West  Eiver 
Bridge,  with  the  narrer-gage  comin'  in  on  one  side,  an' 
the  Montreal  flyer  the  other,  an'  the  old  bridge  teeterin' 
[67] 


A   WALKING    DELEGATE 

between?  "  said  the  Deacon.  "  Kin  you  put  your  nose 
down  on  the  cow-catcher  of  a  locomotive  when  you  're 
waitin'  at  the  depot  an'  let  'em  play  '  Curfew  shall  not 
ring  to-night '  with  the  big  brass  bell? " 

"  Kin  you  hold  back  when  the  brichin'  breaks?  Kin 
you  stop  fer  orders  when  your  nigh  hind  leg  's  over  your 
trace  an'  ye  feel  good  of  a  frosty  mornin'  ? ' '  said  Nip, 
who  had  only  learned  that  trick  last  winter,  and  thought 
it  was  the  crown  of  horsely  knowledge. 

"What  's  the  use  o'  talkin'?"  said  Tedda  Gabler, 
scornfully.  * '  What  kin  ye  do  ? " 

"  I  rely  on  my  simple  rights— the  inalienable  rights 
o'  my  unfettered  horsehood.  An'  I  am  proud  to  say 
I  have  never,  since  my  first  shoes,  lowered  myself  to 
obeyin'  the  will  o'  man." 

"  'Must  ha'  had  a  heap  o'  whips  broke  over  yer 
yaller  back,"  said  Tedda.  "  Hev  ye  found  it  paid 
any?" 

4 '  Sorrer  has  been  my  portion  since  the  day  I  was 
foaled.  Blows  an'  boots  an'  whips  an'  insults— injury, 
outrage,  an'  oppression.  I  would  not  endoor  the  de- 
gradiii'  badges  o'  servitood  that  connect  us  with  the 
buggy  an'  the  farm- wagon." 

"  It  's  amazin'  difficult  to  draw  a  buggy  'thout  traces 
er  collar  er  breast-strap  er  somefin',"  said  Marcus.  "  A 
Power-machine  for  sawin'  wood  is  'most  the  only  thing 
there  's  no  straps  to.  I  've  helped  saw  's  much  as 
three  cord  in  an  afternoon  in  a  Power-machine.  Slep', 
too,  most  o'  the  time,  I  did;  but  't  ain't  half  as  in- 
terestin'  ez  goin'  daown-taown  in  the  Concord." 

"  Concord  don't  hender  you  goin'  to  sleep  any,"  said 
[68] 


A   WALKING    DELEGATE 

Nip.  '  *  My  throat-lash !  D'  you  remember  when  you  lay 
down  in  the  sharves  last  week,  waitin'  at  the  piazza? " 

"  Pshaw!  That  did  n't  hurt  the  sharves.  They  wuz 
good  an'  wide,  an'  I  lay  down  keerful.  The  folks  kep' 
me  hitched  up  nigh  an  hour  'fore  they  started;  an' 
larfed— why,  they  all  but  lay  down  themselves  with 
larfin'.  Say,  Boney,  if  you  've  got  to  be  hitched  to  any 
thing  that  goes  on  wheels,  you  've  got  to  be  hitched 
with  somefin'." 

"  Go  an'  jine  a  circus,"  said  Muldoon,  "  an'  walk  on 
your  hind  legs.  All  de  horses  dat  knows  too  much  to 
work  [he  pronounced  it  "woik,"  New  York  fashion] 
jine  de  circus." 

"I  am  not  sayin'  anythin'  again'  work,"  said  the 
yellow  horse;  "  work  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  world." 

"  'Seems  too  fine  fer  some  of  us,"  Tedda  snorted. 

"  I  only  ask  that  each  horse  should  work  for  himself, 
an'  enjoy  the  profit  of  his  labours.  Let  him  work  intelli 
gently,  an'  not  as  a  machine." 

"  There  ain't  no  horse  that  works  like  a  machine," 
Marcus  began. 

"  There  's  no  way  o'  workin'  that  does  n't  mean  goin' 
to  pole  or  single— they  never  put  me  in  the  Power-ma 
chine— er  under  saddle,"  said  Rick. 

"  Oh,  shucks!  We  're  talkin'  same  ez  we  graze,"  said 
Nip,  "  raound  an'  raound  in  circles.  Rod,  we  hain't 
heard  from  you  yet,  an'  you  've  more  know-how  than 
any  span  here." 

Rod,  the  off -horse  of  the  pair,  had  been  standing  with 
one  hip  lifted,  like  a  tired  cow;  and  you  could  only  tell 
by  the  quick  flutter  of  the  haw  across  his  eye,  from 
[69] 


A   WALKING    DELEGATE 

time  to  time,  that  he  was  paying  any  attention  to  the 
argument.  He  thrust  his  jaw  out  sidewise,  as  his  habit 
is  when  he  pulls,  and  changed  his  leg.  His  voice  was 
hard  and  heavy,  and  his  ears  were  close  to  his  big,  plain 
Hambletonian  head. 

"  How  old  are  you?  "  he  said  to  the  yellow  horse. 

"  Nigh  thirteen,  I  guess." 

"  Mean  age;  ugly  age;  I  'm  gettin'  that  way  myself. 
How  long  hev  ye  been  pawin'  this  fire-fanged  stable- 
litter?" 

"  If  you  mean  my  principles,  I  've  held  'em  sence  I 
was  three." 

"Mean  age;  ugly  age;  teeth  give  heaps  o'  trouble 
then.  'Set  a  colt  to  actin'  crazy  fer  a  while.  You  've 
kep'  it  up,  seemin'ly.  D'  ye  talk  much  to  your  neigh 
bors  fer  a  steady  thing? " 

"  I  uphold  the  principles  o'  the  Cause  wherever  I  am 
pastured." 

"  'Done  a  heap  o'  good,  I  guess? " 

"  I  am  proud  to  say  I  have  taught  a  few  of  my  com 
panions  the  principles  o'  freedom  an'  liberty." 

"  Meanin'  they  ran  away  er  kicked  when  they  got 
thechanst?" 

"  I  was  talkin'  in  the  abstrac',  an'  not  in  the  con 
crete.  My  teachin's  educated  them." 

"  "What  a  horse,  specially  a  young  horse,  hears  in  the 
abstrac',  he  's  liable  to  do  in  the  Concord.  You  wuz 
handled  late,  I  presoom." 

"Four,  risin'  five." 

' '  That ' s  where  the  trouble  began.  Driv'  by  a  woman, 
likeez  not— eh?" 

[TO] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

11  Not  fer  long,"  said  the  yellow  horse,  with  a  snap 
of  his  teeth. 

"Spilled  her?" 

"  I  heerd  she  never  drove  again." 

"  Any  childern? " 

"  Buckboards  full  of  'em." 

u  Men  too?" 

"  I  have  shed  conside'ble  men  in  my  tune." 

"By  kickin'?" 

"  Any  way  that  come  along.  Fallin'  back  over  the 
dash  is  as  handy  as  most." 

"  They  must  be  turr'ble  afraid  o'  you  daown-taown? " 

"  They  've  sent  me  here  to  get  rid  o'  me.  I  guess 
they  spend  their  time  talkin'  over  my  campaigns." 

"  Jwanter  know! " 

' '  Yes,  sir.  Now,  all  you  gentlemen  have  asked  me 
what  I  can  do.  I  '11  just  show  you.  See  them  two 
fellers  lyin'  down  by  the  buggy? " 

"Yep;  one  of  'em  owns  me.  T'  other  broke  me," 
said  Kod. 

"  Get  'em  out  here  in  the  open,  an'  I  '11  show  you 
something.  Lemme  hide  back  o'  you  peoples,  so  's  they 
won't  see  what  I  'm  at." 

"  Meanin'  ter  kill  'em? "  Rod  drawled.  There  was  a 
shudder  of  horror  through  the  others;  but  the  yellow 
horse  never  noticed. 

"I  '11  catch  'em  by  the  back  o'  the  neck,  an'  pile- 
drive  'em  a  piece.  They  can  suit  'emselves  about  livin' 
when  I  'm  through  with  'em." 

"  Should  n't  wonder  ef  they  did,"  said  Rod. 

The  yellow  horse  had  hidden  himself  very  cleverly 
[71] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

behind  the  others  as  they  stood  in  a  group,  and  was 
swaying  his  head  close  to  the  ground  with  a  curious 
scythe-like  motion,  looking  sidewise  out  of  his  wicked 
eyes.  You  can  never  mistake  a  man-eater  getting 
ready  to  knock  a  man  down.  We  had  had  one  to  pas 
ture  the  year  before. 

"  See  that?  "  said  my  companion,  turning  over  on  the 
pine-needles.  "  Nice  for  a  woman  walking  'cross  lots, 
would  n't  it  be? " 

"Bring  'em  out!"  said  the  yellow  horse,  hunching 
his  sharp  back.  "  There  's  no  chance  among  them  tall 
trees.  Bring  out  the — oh !  Ouch ! ' ' 

It  was  a  right-and-left  kick  from  Muldoon.  I  had 
no  idea  that  the  old  car-horse  could  lift  so  quickly. 
Both  blows  caught  the  yellow  horse  full  and  fair  in  the 
ribs,  and  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him. 

"What  's  that  for?"  he  said  angrily,  when  he  re 
covered  himself;  but  I  noticed  he  did  not  draw  any 
nearer  to  Muldoon  than  was  necessary. 

Muldoon  never  answered,  but  discoursed  to  himself 
in  the  whining  grunt  that  he  uses  when  he  is  going 
down-hill  in  front  of  a  heavy  load.  "We  call  it  singing; 
but  I  think  it  's  something  much  worse,  really.  The 
yellow  horse  blustered  and  squealed  a  little,  and  at  last 
said  that,  if  it  was  a  horse-fly  that  had  stung  Muldoon, 
he  would  accept  an  apology. 

"  You  '11  get  it,"  said  Muldoon,  u  in  de  sweet  by-and- 
bye— all  de  apology  you  've  any  use  for.  Excuse  me 
interruptin'  you,  Mr.  Rod,  but  I  'm  like  Tweezy— I  've 
a  Southern  drawback  in  me  hind  legs." 

"  Naow,  I  want  you  all  here  to  take  notice,  and  you  '11 
[72] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

learn  something,"  Rod  went  on.  "  This  yaller-backed 
skate  comes  to  our  pastur'— " 

"  Not  havin'  paid  his  board,"  put  in  Tedda. 

u  Not  havin'  earned  his  board,  an'  talks  smooth  to  us 
abaout  ripplin'  brooks  an'  wavin'  grass,  an'  his  high- 
toned,  pure-souled  horsehood,  which  don't  hender  him 
sheddin'  women  an'  childern,  an'  fallin'  over  the  dash 
onter  men.  You  heard  his  talk,  an'  you  thought  it 
mighty  fine,  some  o'  you." 

Tuck  looked  guilty  here,  but  she  did  not  say  any 
thing. 

. "  Bit  by  bit  he  goes  on  ez  you  have  heard." 

"  I  was  talkin'  in  the  abstrac',"  said  the  yellow  horse, 
in  an  altered  voice. 

u  Abstrac'  be  switched!  Ez  I  've  said,  it  's  this  yer 
blamed  abstrac'  business  that  makes  the  young  uns 
cut  up  in  the  Concord;  an'  abstrac'  or  no  abstrac',  he 
crep'  on  an'  on  till  he  come  to  killin'  plain  an'  straight 
— killin'  them  as  never  done  him  no  harm,  jest  beca'se 
they  owned  horses." 

"An'  knowed  how  to  manage  'em,"  said  Tedda. 
44  That  makes  it  worse." 

**  Waal,  he  did  n't  kill  'em,  anyway, M  said  Marcus. 
"  He  'd  ha'  been  half  killed  ef  he  had  tried." 

"  Makes  no  differ,"  Rod  answered.  "  He  meant  to; 
an'  ef  he  had  n't— s'pose  we  want  the  Back  Pasture 
turned  into  a  biffin'-ground  on  our  only  day  er  rest? 
'S'pose  we  want  our  men  walkin'  round  with  bits  er 
lead  pipe  an'  a  twitch,  an'  their  hands  full  o'  stones  to 
throw  at  us,  same  's  if  we  wuz  hogs  er  hooky  keows? 
More  'n  that,  leavin'  out  Tedda  here— an'  I  guess  it  's 
[73] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

more  her  maouth  than  her  manners  stands  in  her  light 
— there  ain't  a  horse  on  this  farm  that  ain't  a  woman's 
horse,  an'  proud  of  it.  An'  this  yer  bog-spavined  Kan 
sas  sunflower  goes  up  an'  daown  the  length  o'  the  coun 
try,  traded  off  and  traded  on,  boastin'  as  he  's  shed 
women— an'  childern.  I  don't  say  as  a  woman  in  a 
buggy  ain't  a  fool.  I  don't  say  as  she  ain't  the  lastin'est 
kind  er  fool,  ner  I  don't  say  a  child  ain't  worse— spat- 
tin'  the  lines  an'  standin'  up  an'  hollerin'— but  I  do  say, 
't  ain't  none  of  our  business  to  shed  'em  daown  the  road. ' ' 

u  We  don't,"  said  the  Deacon.  "The  baby  tried  to 
git  some  o'  my  tail  for  a  sooveneer  last  fall  when  I  was 
up  to  the  haouse,  an'  I  did  n't  kick.  Boney's  talk  ain't 
goin'  to  hurt  us  any.  We  ain't  colts." 

44  Thet  's  what  you  think.  Bimeby  you  git  into  a  tight 
corner,  'Lection  day  er  Valley  Fair,  like  's  not,  daown- 
taown,  when  you  're  all  het  an'  lathery,  an'  pestered 
with  flies,  an'  thirsty,  an'  sick  o'  bein'  worked  in  an' 
aout  'tween  buggies.  Then  somethin'  whispers  inside  o' 
your  winkers,  bringin'  up  all  that  talk  abaout  servitood 
an'  inalienable  truck  an'  sech  like,  an'  jest  then  a  Militia 
gun  goes  off,  er  your  wheels  hit,  an'— waal,  you  're  only 
another  horse  ez  can't  be  trusted.  I  've  been  there 
time  an'  again.  Boys— fer  I  've  seen  you  all  bought 
er  broke— on  my  solemn  repitation  fer  a  three-minute 
clip,  I  ain't  givin'  you  no  bran-mash  o'  my  own  fixin'. 
I  'm  tellin'  you  my  experiences,  an'  I  've  had  ez  heavy 
a  load  an'  ez  high  a  check  's  any  horse  here.  I  wuz 
born  with  a  splint  on  my  near  fore  ez  big  's  a  walnut, 
an'  the  cussed,  three-cornered  Hambletonian  temper 
that  sours  up  an'  curdles  daown  ez  you  git  older.  I  've 
[74] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

favoured  my  splint;  even  little  Eick  he  don't  know  what 
it  's  cost  me  to  keep  my  end  up  sometimes;  an'  I  've  fit 
my  temper  in  stall  an'  harness,  hitched  up  an'  at  pas 
ture,  till  the  sweat  trickled  off  my  hooves,  an'  they 
thought  I  wuz  off  condition,  an'  drenched  me." 

"  When  my  affliction  came,"  said  Tweezy,  gently,  "  I 
was  very  near  to  losin'  my  manners.  Allow  me  to  ex 
tend  to  you  my  sympathy,  suh." 

Rick  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  at  Rod  curiously. 
Rick  is  a  sunny-tempered  child  who  never  bears  malice, 
and  I  don't  think  he  quite  understood.  He  gets  his 
temper  from  his  mother,  as  a  horse  should. 

"I  've  been  there  too,  Rod,"  said  Tedda.  "Open 
confession  's  good  for  the  soul,  an'  all  Monroe  County 
knows  I  Ve  had  my  experriences." 

"But  if  you  will  excuse  me,  suh,  that  pusson"  — 
Tweezy  looked  unspeakable  things  at  the  yellow  horse— 
"  that  pusson  who  has  insulted  our  intelligences  comes 
from  Kansas.  An'  what  a  ho'se  of  his  position,  an' 
Kansas  at  that,  says  cannot,  by  any  stretch  of  the 
halter,  concern  gentlemen  of  our  position.  There  's  no 
shadow  of  equal' ty,  suh,  not  even  for  one  kick.  He  's 
beneath  our  contempt." 

"Let  him  talk,"  said  Marcus.  "It  's  always  in- 
terestin'  to  know  what  another  horse  thinks.  It  don't 
tech  us." 

"An'  he  talks  so,  too,"  said  Tuck.  "I  've  never 
heard  any  thin'  so  smart  for  a  long  time." 

Again  Rod  stuck  out  his  jaws  sidewise,  and  went  on 
slowly,  as  though  he  were  slugging  on  a  plain  bit  at  the 
end  of  a  thirty-mile  drive : 

[75] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  I  want  all  you  here  ter  understand  thet  ther  ain't 
no  Kansas,  ner  no  Kentucky,  ner  yet  no  Vermont,  in 
our  business.  There  's  jest  two  kind  o'  horse  in  the 
United  States— them  ez  can  an'  will  do  their  work  after 
bein'  properly  broke  an'  handled,  an'  them  as  won't. 
I  'm  sick  an'  tired  o'  this  everlastin'  tail-switchin'  an* 
wickerin'  abaout  one  State  er  another.  A  horse  kin  be 
proud  o'  his  State,  an'  swap  lies  abaout  it  in  stall  or 
when  he  's  hitched  to  a  block,  ef  he  keers  to  put  in  fly- 
time  that  way;  but  he  hain't  no  right  to  let  that  pride 
o'  hisn  interfere  with  his  work,  ner  to  make  it  an  ex 
cuse  fer  claimin'  he  's  different.  That 's  colts'  talk,  an' 
don't  you  fergit  it,  Tweezy.  An',  Marcus,  you  remem 
ber  that  bein'  a  philosopher,  an'  anxious  to  save  trouble, 
—fer  you  are— don't  excuse  you  from  jumpin'  with 
all  your  feet  on  a  slack-jawed,  crazy  clay-bank  like 
Boney  here.  It 's  leavin'  'em  alone  that  gives  'em  their 
chance  to  ruin  colts  an'  kill  folks.  An',  Tuck,  waal, 
you  're  a  mare  anyways— but  when  a  horse  comes 
along  an'  covers  up  all  his  talk  o'  killin'  with  ripplin' 
brooks,  an'  wavin'  grass,  an'  eight  quarts  of  oats  a  day 
free,  after  killin'  his  man,  don't  you  be  run  away  with 
by  his  yap.  You  're  too  young  an'  too  nervous." 

44 1  '11— I  '11  have  nervous  prostration  sure  ef  there  's 
a  fight  here,"  said  Tuck,  who  saw  what  was  in  Rod's 
eye;  "  I  'm— I  'm  that  sympathetic  I  'd  run  away  clear 
to  next  caounty." 

44  Yep;  I  know  that  kind  o'  sympathy.  Jest  lasts 
long  enough  to  start  a  fuss,  an'  then  lights  aout  to  make 
new  trouble.  I  hain't  been  ten  years  in  harness  fer 
nuthin'.  Naow,  we  're  goin'  to  keep  school  with  Boney 
fer  a  spell." 

[76] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

u  Say,  look  a-here,  you  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  me,  are 
you?  Remember,  I  belong  to  a  man  in  town,"  cried 
the  yellow  horse,  uneasily.  Muldoon  kept  behind  him 
so  that  he  could  not  run  away. 

' '  I  know  it.  There  must  be  some  pore  delooded  fool 
in  this  State  hez  a  right  to  the  loose  end  o'  your  hitchin'- 
strap.  I  'm  blame  sorry  fer  him,  but  he  shall  hev  his 
rights  when  we  're  through  with  you,"  said  Rod. 

44  If  it  's  all  the  same,  gentlemen,  I  'd  ruther  change 
pasture.  Guess  I  '11  do  it  now." 

"  Can't  always  have  your  'druthers.  Guess  you 
won't,"  said  Rod. 

"  But  look  a-here.  All  of  you  ain't  so  blame  un 
friendly  to  a  stranger.  S'pose  we  count  noses." 

"  What  in  Vermont  fer?"  said  Rod,  putting  up  his 
eyebrows.  The  idea  of  settling  a  question  by  counting 
noses  is  the  very  last  thing  that  ever  enters  the  head  of 
a  well-broken  horse. 

"To  see  how  many  's  on  my  side.  Here  's  Miss 
Tuck,  anyway;  an'  Colonel  Tweezy  yonder  's  neutral; 
an'  Judge  Marcus,  an'  I  guess  the  Reverend  [the  yellow 
horse  meant  the  Deacon]  might  see  that  I  had  my  rights. 
He  's  the  likeliest-lookin'  trotter  I  've  ever  set  eyes  on. 
Pshaw,  boys!  You  ain't  goin'  to  pound  me,  be  you? 
Why,  we  've  gone  round  in  pasture,  all  colts  together, 
this  month  o'  Sundays,  hain't  we,  as  friendly  as  could 
be.  There  ain't  a  horse  alive— I  don't  care  who  he  is— 
has  a  higher  opinion  o'  you,  Mr.  Rod,  than  I  have.  Let 's 
do  it  fair  an'  true  an'  above  the  exe.  Let  's  count  noses 
same 's  they  do  in  Kansas. ' '  Here  he  dropped  his  voice 
a  little  and  turned  to  Marcus:  "Say,  Judge,  there  's 
some  green  food  I  know,  back  o'  the  brook,  no  one 

[77] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

hain't  touched  yet.  After  this  little  fracas  is  fixed  up, 
you  an'  me  '11  make  up  a  party  an'  'tend  to  it." 

Marcus  did  not  answer  for  a  long  time,  then  he  said : 
"  There  's  a  pup  up  to  the  haouse  'bout  eight  weeks  old. 
He  '11  yap  till  he  gits  a  lickin',  an'  when  he  sees  it 
comin'  he  lies  on  his  back,  an'  yowls.  But  he  don't  go 
through  no  cirkituous  nose-countin'  first.  I  've  seen  a 
noo  light  sence  Rod  spoke.  You  '11  better  stand  up  to 
what 's  served.  I  'm  goin'  to  philosophize  all  over  your 
carcass." 

"  /  'm  goin'  to  do  yer  up  in  brown  paper,"  said  Mul- 
doon.  "  I  can  fit  you  on  apologies. " 

* '  Hold  on.  Ef  we  all  biffed  you  now,  these  same  men 
you  've  been  so  dead  anxious  to  kill  'u'd  call  us  off. 
Guess  we  '11  wait  till  they  go  back  to  the  haouse,  an' 
you  '11  have  time  to  think  cool  an'  quiet,"  said  Rod. 

"Have  you  no  respec'  whatever  fer  the  dignity  o' 
our  common  horsehood? "  the  yellow  horse  squealed. 

"  Nary  respec'  onless  the  horse  kin  do  something. 
America  's  paved  with  the  kind  er  horse  you  are— jist 
plain  yaller-dog  horse— waitin'  ter  be  whipped  inter 
shape.  We  call  'em  yearlings  an'  colts  when  they  're 
young.  When  they  're  aged  we  pound  'em— in  this 
pastur'.  Horse,  sonny,  is  what  you  start  from.  We 
know  all  about  horse  here,  an'  he  ain't  any  high-toned, 
pure-souled  child  o'  nature.  Horse,  plain  horse,  same 
ez  you,  is  chock-full  o'  tricks,  an'  meannesses,  an' 
cussednesses,  an'  shirkin's,  an'  monkey-shines,  which 
he  's  took  over  from  his  sire  an'  his  dam,  an'  thickened 
up  with  his  own  special  fancy  in  the  way  o'  goin' 
crooked.  Thet  's  horse,  an'  thet  's  about  his  dignity  an' 
[78] 


A    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  size  of  his  soul  'fore  he  's  been  broke  an'  rawhided 
a  piece.  Now  we  ain't  goin'  to  give  ornery  unswitched 
horse,  that  hain't  done  nawthin'  wuth  a  quart  of  oats 
sence  he  wuz  foaled,  pet  names  that  would  be  good 
enough  fer  Nancy  Hanks,  or  Alix,  or  Directum,  who  hev. 
Don't  you  try  to  back  off  acrost  them  rocks.  Wait 
where  you  are !  Ef  I  let  my  Hambletonian  temper  git 
the  better  o'  me  I  'd  frazzle  you  out  finer  than  rye- 
straw  inside  o'  three  minutes,  you  woman-scarin', 
kid-killin',  dash-breakin',  unbroke,  unshod,  ungaited, 
pastur' -hoggin',  saw-backed,  shark-mouthed,  hair- 
trunk-  thro wn-in-in-trade  son  of  a  bronco  an'  a  sewin'- 
machine! " 

"I  think  we  'd  better  get  home,"  I  said  to  my  com 
panion,  when  Rod  had  finished ;  and  we  climbed  into  the 
coupe,  Tedda  whinnying,  as  we  bumped  over  the  ledges : 
"  Well,  I  'm  dreffle  sorry  I  can't  stay  fer  the  sociable; 
but  I  hope  an'  trust  my  friends  '11  take  a  ticket  fer  me. ' ' 

"Bet  your  natchul!"  said  Muldoon,  cheerfully,  and 
the  horses  scattered  before  us,  trotting  into  the  ravine. 
********** 

Next  morning  we  sent  back  to  the  livery-stable  what 
was  left  of  the  yellow  horse.  It  seemed  tired,  but  anx 
ious  to  go. 


[TO] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

IT  was  her  first  voyage,  and  though  she  was  but  a 
cargo-steamer  of  twenty-five  hundred  tons,  she  was 
the  very  best  of  her  kind,  the  outcome  of  forty  years  of 
experiments  and  improvements  in  framework  and  ma 
chinery  ;  and  her  designers  and  owner  thought  as  much 
of  her  as  though  she  had  been  the  Lucania.  Any  one 
can  make  a  floating  hotel  that  will  pay  expenses,  if  he 
puts  enough  money  into  the  saloon,  and  charges  for  pri 
vate  baths,  suites  of  rooms,  and  such  like;  but  in  these 
days  of  competition  and  low  freights  every  square  inch 
of  a  cargo-boat  must  be  built  for  cheapness,  great  hold- 
capacity,  and  a  certain  steady  speed.  This  boat  was, 
perhaps,  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  long  and  thirty- 
two  feet  wide,  with  arrangements  that  enabled  her  to 
carry  cattle  on  her  main  and  sheep  on  her  upper  deck 
if  she  wanted  to ;  but  her  great  glory  was  the  amount 
of  cargo  that  she  could  store  away  in  her  holds.  Her 
owners— they  were  a  very  well-known  Scotch  firm- 
came  round  with  her  from  the  north,  where  she  had 
been  launched  and  christened  and  fitted,  to  Liverpool, 
where  she  was  to  take  cargo  for  New  York;  and  the 
owner's  daughter,  Miss  Frazier,  went  to  and  fro  on 
[83] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

the  clean  decks,  admiring  the  new  paint  and  the  brass 
work,  and  the  patent  winches,  and  particularly  the 
strong,  straight  bow,  over  which  she  had  cracked  a 
bottle  of  champagne  when  she  named  the  steamer  the 
Dimbula.  It  was  a  beautiful  September  afternoon,  and 
the  boat  in  all  her  newness— she  was  painted  lead-colour 
with  a  red  funnel— looked  very  fine  indeed.  Her  house- 
flag  was  flying,  and  her  whistle  from  tune  to  time 
acknowledged  the  salutes  of  friendly  boats,  who  saw 
that  she  was  new  to  the  High  and  Narrow  Seas  and 
wished  to  make  her  welcome. 

"And  now,"  said  Miss  Frazier,  delightedly,  to  the 
captain,  "  she  's  a  real  ship,  is  n't  she?  It  seems  only 
the  other  day  father  gave  the  order  for  her,  and  now— 
and  now— is  n't  she  a  beauty ! ' '  The  girl  was  proud  of 
the  firm,  and  talked  as  though  she  were  the  controlling 
partner. 

u  Oh,  she  's  no  so  bad,"  the  skipper  replied  cau 
tiously.  "  But  I  'm  say  in'  that  it  takes  more  than 
christenin'  to  mak'  a  ship.  In  the  nature  o'  things, 
Miss  Frazier,  if  ye  follow  me,  she  's  just  irons  and 
rivets  and  plates  put  into  the  form  of  a  ship.  She  has 
to  find  herself  yet." 

"  I  thought  father  said  she  was  exceptionally  well 
found." 

"  So  she  is,"  said  the  skipper,  with  a  laugh.  "  But 
it 's  this  way  wi'  ships,  Miss  Frazier.  She  's  all  here, 
but  the  parrts  of  her  have  not  learned  to  work  together 
yet.  They  've  had  no  chance." 

44  The  engines  are  working  beautifully.  I  can  hear 
them." 

[84] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

"  Yes,  indeed.  But  there  's  more  than  engines  to  a 
ship.  Every  inch  of  her,  ye  '11  understand,  has  to  be 
livened  up  and  made  to  work  wi'  its  neighbour— sweet- 
enin'  her,  we  call  it,  technically." 

"  And  how  will  you  do  it?  "  the  girl  asked. 

"  We  can  no  more  than  drive  and  steer  her  and  so 
forth;  but  if  we  have  rough  weather  this  trip— it  's 
likely— she  '11  learn  the  rest  by  heart!  For  a  ship, 
ye  '11  obsairve,  Miss  Frazier,  is  in  no  sense  a  reegid 
body  closed  at  both  ends.  She  's  a  highly  complex 
structure  o'  various  an'  conflictin'  strains,  wi'  tissues 
that  must  give  an'  tak'  accordin'  to  her  personal  modu 
lus  of  elasteecity."  Mr.  Buchanan,  the  chief  engineer, 
was  coming  towards  them.  "  I  'm  sayin'  to  Miss  Frazier, 
here,  that  our  little  Dimbula  has  to  be  sweetened  yet, 
and  nothin'  but  a  gale  will  do  it.  How  's  all  wi'  your 
engines,  Buck?" 

"Well  enough— true  by  plumb  an'  rule,  o'  course; 
but  there  's  no  spontaneeity  yet."  He  turned  to  the 
girl.  "  Take  my  word,  Miss  Frazier,  and  maybe  ye  '11 
comprehend  later;  even  after  a  pretty  girl  's  christened 
a  ship  it  does  not  follow  that  there  's  such  a  thing  as  a 
ship  under  the  men  that  work  her." 

"  I  was  sayin'  the  very  same,  Mr.  Buchanan,"  the 
skipper  interrupted. 

"  That 's  more  metaphysical  than  I  can  follow,"  said 
Miss  Frazier,  laughing. 

"Why  so?     Ye  're  good  Scotch,  an'— I  knew  your 
mother's  father,  he  was  fra'  Dumfries— ye  've  a  vested 
right  in  metapheesics,  Miss  Frazier,  just  as  ye  have  in 
the  Dinibula"  the  engineer  said. 
[85] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

"  Eh,  well,  we  must  go  down  to  the  deep  watters,  an' 
earn  Miss  Frazier  her  deevidends.  Will  you  not  come 
to  my  cabin  for  tea?  "  said  the  skipper.  "  We  '11  be  in 
dock  the  night,  and  when  you  're  goin'  back  to  Glasgie 
ye  can  think  of  us  loadin'  her  down  an'  drivin'  her 
forth— all  for  your  sake." 

In  the  next  few  days  they  stowed  some  four  thou 
sand  tons  dead  weight  into  the  Dimbula,  and  took  her 
out  from  Liverpool.  As  soon  as  she  met  the  lift  of  the 
open  water,  she  naturally  began  to  talk.  If  you  lay 
your  ear  to  the  side  of  the  cabin,  the  next  time  you  are 
in  a  steamer,  you  will  hear  hundreds  of  little  voices  in 
every  direction,  thrilling  and  buzzing,  and  whispering 
and  popping,  and  gurgling  and  sobbing  and  squeaking 
exactly  like  a  telephone  in  a  thunder-storm.  Wooden 
ships  shriek  and  growl  and  grunt,  but  iron  vessels 
throb  and  quiver  through  all  their  hundreds  of  ribs 
and  thousands  of  rivets.  The  Dimbula  was  very 
strongly  built,  and  every  piece  of  her  had  a  letter  or 
a  number,  or  both,  to  describe  it;  and  every  piece  had 
been  hammered,  or  forged,  or  rolled,  or  punched  by 
man,  and  had  lived  in  the  roar  and  rattle  of  the  ship 
yard  for  months.  Therefore,  every  piece  had  its  own 
separate  voice,  in  exact  proportion  to  the  amount  of 
trouble  spent  upon  it.  Cast-iron,  as  a  rule,  says  very 
little;  but  mild  steel  plates  and  wrought-iron,  and  ribs 
and  beams  that  have  been  much  bent  and  welded 
and  riveted,  talk  continuously.  Their  conversation,  of 
course,  is  not  half  as  wise  as  our  human  talk,  because 
they  are  all,  though  they  do  not  know  it,  bound  down 
one  to  the  other  in  a  black  darkness,  where  they  cannot 
[86] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

tell  what  is  happening  near  them,  nor  what  will  over 
take  them  next. 

As  soon  as  she  had  cleared  the  Irish  coast,  a  sullen, 
grey-headed  old  wave  of  the  Atlantic  climbed  leisurely 
over  her  straight  bows,  and  sat  down  on  the  steam- 
capstan  used  for  hauling- up  the  anchor.  Now  the 
capstan  and  the  engine  that  drove  it  had  been  newly 
painted  red  and  green;  besides  which,  nobody  likes 
being  ducked. 

"Don't  you  do  that  again,"  the  capstan  sputtered 
through  the  teeth  of  his  cogs.  "Hi!  Where  's  the 
fellow  gone? " 

The  wave  had  slouched  overside  with  a  plop  and  a 
chuckle;  but  "  Plenty  more  where  he  came  from,"  said 
a  brother- wave,  and  went  through  and  over  the  capstan, 
who  was  bolted  firmly  to  an  iron  plate  on  the  iron  deck- 
beams  below. 

"  Can't  you  keep  still  up  there  ?  "  said  the  deck-beams. 
"  What  's  the  matter  with  you?  One  minute  you  weigh 
twice  as  much  as  you  ought  to,  and  the  next  you 
don't!" 

"  It  is  n't  my  fault,"  said  the  capstan.  "  There  's  a 
green  brute  outside  that  comes  and  hits  me  on  the 
head." 

"Tell  that  to  the  shipwrights.  You  've  been  in 
position  for  months  and  you  've  never  wriggled  like 
this  before.  If  you  are  n't  careful  you  '11  strain  ws." 

"  Talking  of  strain,"  said  a  low,  rasping,  unpleasant 

voice,  "are  any  of  you  fellows— you  deck-beams,  we 

mean— aware  that   those   exceedingly  ugly  knees  of 

yours  happen  to  be  riveted  into  our  structure— ourst " 

[87] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

"  Who  might  you  be?  "  the  deck-beams  inquired. 

* '  Oh,  nobody  in  particular, ' '  was  the  answer.  * '  We  're 
only  the  port  and  starboard  upper-deck  stringers;  and 
if  you  persist  in  heaving  and  hiking  like  this,  we  shall 
be  reluctantly  compelled  to  take  steps." 

Now  the  stringers  of  the  ship  are  long  iron  girders,  so 
to  speak,  that  run  lengthways  from  stern  to  bow.  They 
keep  the  iron  frames  (what  are  called  ribs  in  a  wooden 
ship)  in  place,  and  also  help  to  hold  the  ends  of  the  deck- 
beams,  which  go  from  side  to  side  of  the  ship.  Stringers 
always  consider  themselves  most  important,  because  they 
are  so  long. 

"  You  will  take  steps— will  you? "  This  was  a  long 
echoing  rumble.  It  came  from  the  frames— scores  and 
scores  of  them,  each  one  about  eighteen  inches  distant 
from  the  next,  and  each  riveted  to  the  stringers  in  four 
places.  "  We  think  you  will  have  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble  in  that ' ' ;  and  thousands  and  thousands  of  the 
little  rivets  that  held  everything  together  whispered: 
"You  will.  You  will!  Stop  quivering  and  be  quiet. 
Hold  on,  brethren!  Hold  on!  Hot  Punches!  What  's 
that?" 

Rivets  have  no  teeth,  so  they  cannot  chatter  with 
fright;  but  they  did  their  best  as  a  fluttering  jar  swept 
along  the  ship  from  stern  to  bow,  and  she  shook  like  a 
rat  in  a  terrier's  mouth. 

An  unusually  severe  pitch,  for  the  sea  was  rising, 
had  lifted  the  big  throbbing  screw  nearly  to  the  surface, 
and  it  was  spinning  round  in  a  kind  of  soda-water— 
half  sea  and  half  air— going  much  faster  than  was 
proper,  because  there  was  no  deep  water  for  it  to  work 
[88] 


Drawn  by  W.  Louis  Sonntag,  Jr. 


An  unusually  severe  pitch  .   .   .   had  lifted  the  big,  throbbing  screw 
nearly  to  the  surface." 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

in.  As  it  sank  again,  the  engines— and  they  were  triple 
expansion,  three  cylinders  in  a  row— snorted  through  all 
their  three  pistons.  "  "Was  that  a  joke,  you  fellow  out 
side?  It  's  an  uncommonly  poor  one.  How  are  we  to 
do  our  work  if  you  fly  off  the  handle  that  way? " 

"  I  did  n't  fly  off  the  handle,"  said  the  screw,  twirl 
ing  huskily  at  the  end  of  the  screw-shaft.  "  If  I  had, 
you'd  have  been  scrap-iron  by  this  time.  The  sea 
dropped  away  from  under  me,  and  I  had  nothing  to 
catch  on  to.  That  'sail." 

uThat  's  all,  d'  you  call  it?"  said  the  thrust-block, 
whose  business  it  is  to  take  the  push  of  the  screw ;  for  if 
a  screw  had  nothing  to  hold  it  back  it  would  crawl  right 
into  the  engine-room.  (It  is  the  holding  back  of  the 
screwing  action  that  gives  the  drive  to  a  ship.)  "  I 
know  I  do  my  work  deep  down  and  out  of  sight,  but  I 
warn  you  I  expect  justice.  All  I  ask  for  is  bare  justice. 
"Why  can't  you  push  steadily  and  evenly,  instead  of 
whizzing  like  a  whirligig,  and  making  me  hot  under 
all  my  collars."  The  thrust-block  had  six  collars,  each 
faced  with  brass,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  get  them  heated. 

All  the  bearings  that  supported  the  fifty  feet  of  screw- 
shaft  as  it  ran  to  the  stern  whispered:  "  Justice— give 
us  justice." 

"I  can  only  give  you  what  I  can  get,"  the  screw 
answered.  "  Look  out!  It  's  coming  again!  " 

He  rose  with  a  roar  as  the  Dimbula  plunged,  and 
"  whack— flack— whack— whack  "  went  the  engines, 
furiously,  for  they  had  little  to  check  them. 

"  I  'm  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity— Mr. 
Buchanan  says  so,"  squealed  the  high-pressure  cylin- 
[89] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

der.  "This  is  simply  ridiculous!"  The  piston  went 
up  savagely,  and  choked,  for  half  the  steam  behind  it 
was  mixed  with  dirty  water.  "Help!  Oiler!  Fitter! 
Stoker!  Help!  I  'm  choking,"  it  gasped.  "Never  in 
the  history  of  maritime  invention  has  such  a  calamity 
overtaken  one  so  young  and  strong.  And  if  I  go,  who  's 
to  drive  the  ship?" 

"Hush!  oh,  hush!"  whispered  the  Steam,  who,  of 
course,  had  been  to  sea  many  times  before.  He  used  to 
spend  his  leisure  ashore  in  a  cloud,  or  a  gutter,  or  a 
flower-pot,  or  a  thunder-storm,  or  anywhere  else  where 
water  was  needed.  "That  's  only  a  little  priming,  a 
little  carrying-over,  as  they  call  it.  It  '11  happen  all 
night,  on  and  off.  I  don't  say  it  's  nice,  but  it  's  the 
best  we  can  do  under  the  circumstances." 

"What  difference  can  circumstances  make?  I  'm 
here  to  do  my  work— on  clean,  dry  steam.  Blow  cir 
cumstances!  "  the  cylinder  roared. 

"  The  circumstances  will  attend  to  the  blowing.  I  've 
worked  on  the  North  Atlantic  run  a  good  many  times 
—it  's  going  to  be  rough  before  morning." 

"It  is  n't  distressingly  calm  now,"  said  the  extra- 
strong  frames— they  were  called  web-frames—in  the 
engine-room.  "  There  's  an  upward  thrust  that  we 
don't  understand,  and  there  's  a  twist  that  is  very  bad 
for  our  brackets  and  diamond-plates,  and  there  's  a  sort 
of  west-northwesterly  pull,  that  follows  the  twist, 
which  seriously  annoys  us.  We  mention  this  because 
we  happened  to  cost  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  we  feel 
sure  that  the  owner  would  not  approve  of  our  being 
treated  in  this  frivolous  way." 
[90] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

"  I  'm  afraid  the  matter  is  out  of  owner's  hands  for 
the  present,"  said  the  Steam,  slipping  into  the  con 
denser.  "You  're  left  to  your  own  devices  till  the 
weather  betters. ' ' 

"I  would  n't  mind  the  weather,"  said  a  flat  bass 
voice  below;  "  it 's  this  confounded  cargo  that 's  break 
ing  my  heart.  I  'm  the  garboard-strake,  and  I  'm  twice 
as  thick  as  most  of  the  others,  and  I  ought  to  know 
something." 

The  garboard-strake  is  the  lowest  plate  in  the  bottom 
of  a  ship,  and  the  Dimbula's  garboard-strake  was  nearly 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  mild  steel. 

' '  The  sea  pushes  me  up  in  a  way  I  should  never  have 
expected,"  the  strake  grunted,  "  and  the  cargo  pushes 
me  down,  and,  between  the  two,  I  don't  know  what 
I  'm  supposed  to  do." 

"  When  in  doubt,  hold  on,"  rumbled  the  Steam,  mak 
ing  head  in  the  boilers. 

"Yes;  but  there  's  only  dark,  and  cold,  and  hurry, 
down  here;  and  how  do  I  know  whether  the  other 
plates  are  doing  their  duty?  Those  bulwark-plates  up 
above,  I  've  heard,  ain't  more  than  five-sixteenths  of  an 
inch  thick— scandalous,  I  call  it." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  a  huge  web-frame,  by  the 
main  cargo-hatch.  He  was  deeper  and  thicker  than  all 
the  others,  and  curved  half-way  across  the  ship  in  the 
shape  of  half  an  arch,  to  support  the  deck  where  deck- 
beams  would  have  been  in  the  way  of  cargo  coming  up 
and  down.  "  I  work  entirely  unsupported,  and  I  ob 
serve  that  I  am  the  sole  strength  of  this  vessel,  so  far  as 
my  vision  extends.  The  responsibility,  I  assure  you,  is 
[91] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

enormous.  I  believe  the  money- value  of  the  cargo  is 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds.  Think 
of  that!" 

"  And  every  pound  of  it  is  dependent  on  my  per 
sonal  exertions."  Here  spoke  a  sea- valve  that  commu 
nicated  directly  with  the  water  outside,  and  was  seated 
not  very  far  from  the  garboard-strake.  "  I  rejoice  to 
think  that  I  am  a  Prince- Hyde  Valve,  with  best  Para 
rubber  facings.  Five  patents  cover  me— I  mention  this 
without  pride— five  separate  and  several  patents,  each 
one  finer  than  the  other.  At  present  I  am  screwed  fast. 
Should  I  open,  you  would  immediately  be  swamped. 
This  is  incontrovertible!" 

Patent  things  always  use  the  longest  words  they  can. 
It  is  a  trick  that  they  pick  up  from  their  inventors. 

"That  's  news,"  said  a  big  centrifugal  bilge-pump. 
"  I  had  an  idea  that  you  were  employed  to  clean  decks 
and  things  with.  At  least,  I  've  used  you  for  that 
more  than  once.  I  forget  the  precise  number,  in  thou 
sands,  of  gallons  which  I  am  guaranteed  to  throw  per 
hour;  but  I  assure  you,  my  complaining  friends,  that 
there  is  not  the  least  danger.  I  alone  am  capable  of 
clearing  any  water  that  may  find  its  way  here.  By  my 
Biggest  Deliveries,  we  pitched  then!  " 

The  sea  was  getting  up  in  workmanlike  style.  It 
was  a  dead  westerly  gale,  blown  from  under  a  ragged 
opening  of  green  sky,  narrowed  on  all  sides  by  fat, 
grey  clouds;  and  the  wind  bit  like  pincers  as  it  fretted 
the  spray  into  lacework  on  the  flanks  of  the  waves. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  the  foremast  telephoned  down 
its  wire-stays.  "I  'm  up  here,  and  I  can  take  a  dis- 
[92] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

passionate  view  of  things.  There  's  an  organized  con 
spiracy  against  us.  I  'm  sure  of  it,  because  every 
single  one  of  these  waves  is  heading  directly  for  our 
bows.  The  whole  sea  is  concerned  in  it— and  so  's  the 
wind.  It's  awful!" 

"  What 's  awful? "  said  a  wave,  drowning  the  capstan 
for  the  hundredth  time. 

"  This  organized  conspiracy  on  your  part,"  the  cap 
stan  gurgled,  taking  his  cue  from  the  mast. 

4 '  Organized  bubbles  and  spindrift !  There  has  been  a 
depression  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Excuse  me!"  He 
leaped  overside;  but  his  friends  took  up  the  tale  one 
after  another. 

"Which  has  advanced—"  That  wave  hove  green 
water  over  the  funnel. 

' '  As  far  as  Cape  Hatteras— ' :    He  drenched  the  bridge. 

"  And  is  now  going  out  to  sea— to  sea— to  sea!  "  The 
third  went  out  in  three  surges,  making  a  clean  sweep  of 
a  boat,  which  turned  bottom  up  and  sank  in  the  darken 
ing  troughs  alongside,  while  the  broken  falls  whipped 
the  davits. 

"  That  's  all  there  is  to  it,"  seethed  the  white  water 
roaring  through  the  scuppers.  "  There  's  no  animus  in 
our  proceedings.  We  're  only  meteorological  corol 
laries." 

"  Is  it  going  to  get  any  worse? "  said  the  bow-anchor 
chained  down  to  the  deck,  where  he  could  only  breathe 
once  in  five  minutes. 

"  'Not  knowing,  can't  say.  Wind  may  blow  a  bit  by 
midnight.  Thanks  awfully.  Good-bye." 

The  wave  that  spoke  so  politely  had  travelled  some 
[93] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

distance  aft,  and  found  itself  all  mixed  up  on  the  deck 
amidships,  which  was  a  well-deck  sunk  between  high 
bulwarks.  One  of  the  bulwark-plates,  which  was 
hung  on  hinges  to  open  outward,  had  swung  out,  and 
passed  the  bulk  of  the  water  back  to  the  sea  again  with 
a  clean  smack. 

"  Evidently  that  's  what  I  'm  made  for,"  said  the 
plate,  closing  again  with  a  sputter  of  pride.  "  Oh,  no, 
you  don't,  my  friend!  " 

The  top  of  a  wave  was  trying  to  get  in  from  the  out 
side,  but  as  the  plate  did  not  open  in  that  direction,  the 
defeated  water  spurted  back. 

"Not  bad  for  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch,"  said  the 
bulwark-plate.  "  My  work,  I  see,  is  laid  down  for  the 
night";  and  it  began  opening  and  shutting,  as  it  was 
designed  to  do,  with  the  motion  of  the  ship. 

"  We  are  not  what  you  might  call  idle,"  groaned  all 
the  frames  together,  as  the  Dimbula  climbed  a  big 
wave,  lay  on  her  side  at  the  top,  and  shot  into  the  next 
hollow,  twisting  in  the  descent.  A  huge  swell  pushed 
up  exactly  under  her  middle,  and  her  bow  and  stern 
hung  free  with  nothing  to  support  them.  Then  one 
joking  wave  caught  her  up  at  the  bow,  and  another  at 
the  stern,  while  the  rest  of  the  water  slunk  away  from 
under  her  just  to  see  how  she  would  like  it ;  so  she  was 
held  up  at  her  two  ends  only,  and  the  weight  of  the 
cargo  and  the  machinery  fell  on  the  groaning  iron  keels 
and  bilge-stringers. 

"Ease  off!  Ease  off,  there!"  roared  the  garboard- 
strake.  ' '  I  want  one  eighth  of  an  inch  fair  play.  D'  you 
hear  me,  you  rivets!  " 

[94] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

"Ease  off!  Ease  off!"  cried  the  bilge-stringers. 
"Don't  hold  us  so  tight  to  the  frames!" 

"  Ease  off !  "  grunted  the  deck-beams,  as  the  Dimbula 
rolled  fearfully.  "  You  've  cramped  our  knees  into  the 
stringers,  and  we  can't  move.  Ease  off,  you  flat-headed 
little  nuisances." 

Then  two  converging  seas  hit  the  bows,  one  on  each 
side,  and  fell  away  in  torrents  of  streaming  thunder. 

"  Ease  off !  "  shouted  the  forward  collision-bulkhead. 
"I  want  to  crumple  up,  but  I  'm  stiffened  in  every 
direction.  Ease  off,  you  dirty  little  forge-filings.  Let 
me  breathe! " 

All  the  hundreds  of  plates  that  are  riveted  to  the 
frames,  and  make  the  outside  skin  of  every  steamer, 
echoed  the  call,  for  each  plate  wanted  to  shift  and  creep 
a  little,  and  each  plate,  according  to  its  position,  com 
plained  against  the  rivets. 

"  We  can't  help  it!  We  can't  help  it! "  they  mur 
mured  in  reply.  "We  're  put  here  to  hold  you,  and 
we  're  going  to  do  it;  you  never  pull  us  twice  in  the 
same  direction.  If  you  'd  say  what  you  were  going  to 
do  next,  we  'd  try  to  meet  your  views." 

"  As  far  as  I  could  feel,"  said  the  upper-deck  plank 
ing,  and  that  was  four  inches  thick,  "  every  single  iron 
near  me  was  pushing  or  pulling  in  opposite  directions. 
Now,  what  's  the  sense  of  that?  My  friends,  let  us  all 
pull  together." 

"  Pull  any  way  you  please,"  roared  the  funnel,  "  so 
long  as  you  don't  try  your  experiments  on  me.     I  need 
fourteen  wire  ropes,  all  pulling  in  different  directions,  to 
hold  me  steady.    Is  n't  that  so? " 
[95] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

"  We  believe  you,  my  boy !  "  whistled  the  funnel-stays 
through  their  clinched  teeth,  as  they  twanged  in  the  wind 
from  the  top  of  the  funnel  to  the  deck. 

"Nonsense!  "We  must  all  pull  together,"  the  decks 
repeated.  "  Pull  lengthways." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  stringers;  "  then  stop  pushing 
sideways  when  you  get  wet.  Be  content  to  run  grace 
fully  fore  and  aft,  and  curve  in  at  the  ends  as  we  do. ' ' 

"  No— no  curves  at  the  end.  A  very  slight  workman 
like  curve  from  side  to  side,  with  a  good  grip  at  each 
knee,  and  little  pieces  welded  on, ' '  said  the  deck-beams. 

"Fiddle!"  cried  the  iron  pillars  of  the  deep,  dark 
hold.  "  Who  ever  heard  of  curves?  Stand  up  straight; 
be  a  perfectly  round  column,  and  carry  tons  of  good 
solid  weight— like  that!  There!  "  A  big  sea  smashed 
on  the  deck  above,  and  the  pillars  stiffened  themselves 
to  the  load. 

"  Straight  up  and  down  is  not  bad,"  said  the  frames, 
who  ran  that  way  in  the  sides  of  the  ship,  "  but  you 
must  also  expand  yourselves  sideways.  Expansion  is 
the  law  of  life,  children.  Open  out!  open  out!  " 

' '  Come  back ! ' '  said  the  deck-beams,  savagely,  as  the 
upward  heave  of  the  sea  made  the  frames  try  to  open. 
"  Come  back  to  your  bearings,  you  slack-jawed  irons!  " 

"Rigidity!  Rigidity!  Rigidity!"  thumped  the  en 
gines.  "  Absolute,  unvarying  rigidity— rigidity!  " 

* 4  You  see !  "  whined  the  rivets,  in  chorus.  ' '  No  two  of 
you  will  ever  pull  alike,  and— and  you  blame  it  all  on  us. 
We  only  know  how  to  go  through  a  plate  and  bite  down 
on  both  sides  so  that  it  can't,  and  must  n't,  and  sha'n't 
move." 

[96] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

"  I  Ve  got  one  fraction  of  an  inch  play,  at  any  rate," 
said  the  garboard-strake,  triumphantly.  So  he  had, 
and  all  the  bottom  of  the  ship  felt  the  easier  for  it. 

"Then  we  're  no  good,"  sobbed  the  bottom  rivets. 
44  We  were  ordered — we  were  ordered— never  to  give; 
arid  we  Ve  given,  and  the  sea  will  come  in,  and  we  '11 
all  go  to  the  bottom  together!  First  we  're  blamed  for 
everything  unpleasant,  and  now  we  have  n't  the  con 
solation  of  having  done  our  work." 

"  Don't  say  I  told  you,"  whispered  the  Steam,  con 
solingly,  "  but,  between  you  and  me  and  the  last  cloud 
I  came  from,  it  was  bound  to  happen  sooner  or  later. 
You  had  to  give  a  fraction,  and  you  Ve  given  without 
knowing  it.  Now,  hold  on,  as  before." 

"  What  's  the  use? "  a  few  hundred  rivets  chattered. 
44  We  Ve  given— we  Ve  given;  and  the  sooner  we  confess 
that  we  can't  keep  the  ship  together,  and  go  off  our  little 
heads,  the  easier  it  will  be.  No  rivet  forged  can  stand 
this  strain." 

44  No  one  rivet  was  ever  meant  to.  Share  it  among 
you,"  the  Steam  answered. 

44  The  others  can  have  my  share.  I  'm  going  to  pull 
out,"  said  a  rivet  in  one  of  the  forward  plates. 

44  If  you  go,  others  will  follow,"  hissed  the  Steam. 
44  There  's  nothing  so  contagious  in  a  boat  as  rivets 
going.  Why,  I  knew  a  little  chap  like  you— he  was  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  fatter,  though— on  a  steamer— to  be 
sure,  she  was  only  twelve  hundred  tons,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it— in  exactly  the  same  place  as  you  are.  He 
pulled  out  in  a  bit  of  a  bobble  of  a  sea,  not  half  as  baa 
as  this,  and  he  started  all  his  friends  on  the  same  butt- 

[97] 


THE    SHIP    THAT   FOUND    HERSELF 

strap,  and  the  plates  opened  like  a  furnace  door,  and  I 
had  to  climb  into  the  nearest  fog-bank,  while  the  boat 
went  down." 

"  Now  that  's  peculiarly  disgraceful,"  said  the  rivet. 
"  Fatter  than  me,  was  he,  and  in  a  steamer  not  half  our 
tonnage?  Reedy  little  peg!  I  blush  for  the  family, 
sir."  He  settled  himself  more  firmly  than  ever  in  his 
place,  and  the  Steam  chuckled. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  quite  gravely,  "  a  rivet,  and 
especially  a  rivet  in  your  position,  is  really  the  one  in 
dispensable  part  of  the  ship." 

The  Steam  did  not  say  that  he  had  whispered  the  very 
same  thing  to  every  single  piece  of  iron  aboard.  There 
is  no  sense  in  telling  too  much. 

And  all  that  while  the  little  Dimbula  pitched  and 
chopped,  and  swung  and  slewed,  and  lay  down  as  though 
she  were  going  to  die,  and  got  up  as  though  she  had 
been  stung,  and  threw  her  nose  round  and  round  in 
circles  half  a  dozen  times  as  she  dipped,  for  the  gale 
was  at  its  worst.  It  was  inky  black,  in  spite  of  the 
tearing  white  froth  on  the  waves,  and,  to  top  every 
thing,  the  rain  began  to  fall  in  sheets,  so  that  you  could 
not  see  your  hand  before  your  face.  This  did  not  make 
much  difference  to  the  ironwork  below,  but  it  troubled 
the  foremast  a  good  deal. 

"Now  it  's  all  finished,"  he  said  dismally.  "  The 
conspiracy  is  too  strong  for  us.  There  is  nothing  left 
but  to—" 

' '  Hurraar  I  Brrrraaah  !  Brrrrrrp  I ' '  roared  the  Steam 
through  the  fog-horn,  till  the  decks  quivered.  "  Don't 
be  frightened,  below.  It 's  only  me,  just  throwing  out 

[98] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

a  few  words,  in  case  any  one  happens  to  be  rolling 
round  to-night." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  there  's  any  one  except  us 
on  the  sea  in  such  weather?"  said  the  funnel,  in  a 
husky  snuffle. 

"  Scores  of  'em,"  said  the  Steam,  clearing  its  throat. 
"  Rrrrrraaa!  Brraaaaa!  Prrrrp!  It  's  a  trifle  windy 
up  here ;  and,  Great  Boilers !  how  it  rains ! ' ' 

"  We  're  drowning,"  said  the  scuppers.  They  had 
been  doing  nothing  else  all  night,  but  this  steady  thrash 
of  rain  above  them  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  the  world. 

"That  's  all  right.  We  '11  be  easier  in  an  hour  or 
two.  First  the  wind  and  then  the  rain:  Soon  you  may 
make  sail  again !  Grrraao-aaah  I  Drrrraaaa !  Drrrp !  I 
have  a  notion  that  the  sea  is  going  down  already.  If 
it  does  you  '11  learn  something  about  rolling.  We  Ve 
only  pitched  till  now.  By  the  way,  are  n't  you  chaps  in 
the  hold  a  little  easier  than  you  were? " 

There  was  just  as  much  groaning  and  straining  as 
ever,  but  it  was  not  so  loud  or  squeaky  in  tone;  and 
when  the  ship  quivered  she  did  not  jar  stiffly,  like  a 
poker  hit  on  the  floor,  but  gave  with  a  supple  little 
waggle,  like  a  perfectly  balanced  golf-club. 

"  We  have  made  a  most  amazing  discovery,"  said  the 
stringers,  one  after  another.  ' '  A  discovery  that  entirely 
changes  the  situation.  We  have  found,  for  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  ship-building,  that  the  inward 
pull  of  the  deck-beams  and  the  outward  thrust  of  the 
frames  locks  us,  as  it  were,  more  closely  in  our  places, 
and  enables  us  to  endure  a  strain  which  is  entirely  with 
out  parallel  in  the  records  of  marine  architecture." 

[99] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

The  Steam  turned  a  laugh  quickly  into  a  roar  up  the 
fog-horn.  "  What  massive  intellects  you  great  stringers 
have,"  he  said  softly,  when  he  had  finished. 

u  We  also,"  began  the  deck-beams,  "  are  discoverers 
and  geniuses.  We  are  of  opinion  that  the  support  of  the 
hold-pillars  materially  helps  us.  We  find  that  we  lock 
up  on  them  when  we  are  subjected  to  a  heavy  and 
singular  weight  of  sea  above." 

Here  the  Dimbula  shot  down  a  hollow,  lying  almost 
on  her  side;  righting  at  the  bottom  with  a  wrench 
and  a  spasm. 

"  In  these  cases— are  you  aware  of  this,  Steam?— the 
plating  at  the  bows,  and  particularly  at  the  stern— we 
would  also  mention  the  floors  beneath  us— help  us  to 
resist  any  tendency  to  spring."  The  frames  spoke,  in 
the  solemn  awed  voice  which  people  use  when  they 
have  just  come  across  something  entirely  new  for  the 
very  first  time. 

44 1  'm  only  a  poor  puffy  little  flutterer,"  said  the 
Steam,  "  but  I  have  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  pressure  in 
my  business.  It  's  all  tremendously  interesting.  Tell 
us  some  more.  You  fellows  are  so  strong." 

4 'Watch  us  and  you  '11  see,"  said  the  bow-plates, 
proudly.  "Ready,  behind  there!  Here  's  the  father 
and  mother  of  waves  coming!  Sit  tight,  rivets  all!" 
A  great  sluicing  comber  thundered  by,  but  through  the 
scuffle  and  confusion  the  Steam  could  hear  the  low, 
quick  cries  of  the  ironwork  as  the  various  strains  took 
them — cries  like  these:  "  Easy,  now— easy !  Now  push 
for  all  your  strength  I  Hold  out  1  Give  a  fraction !  Hold 
upJ  Pull  in!  Shove  crosswaysJ  Mind  the  strain  at  the 

[!<*>] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

ends !    Grip,  now !    Bite  tight !    Let  the  water  get  away 
from  under— and  there  she  goes!  " 

The  wave  raced  off  into  the  darkness,  shouting,  "  Not 
bad,  that,  if  it 's  your  first  run!  "  and  the  drenched  and 
ducked  ship  throbbed  to  the  beat  of  the  engines  inside 
her.  All  three  cylinders  were  white  with  the  salt  spray 
that  had  come  down  through  the  engine-room  hatch; 
there  was  white  fur  on  the  canvas-bound  steam-pipes, 
and  even  the  bright- work  deep  below  was  speckled  and 
soiled ;  but  the  cylinders  had  learned  to  make  the  most 
of  steam  that  was  half  water,  and  were  pounding  along 
cheerfully. 

"  How  's  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity 
hitting  it? "  said  the  Steam,  as  he  whirled  through  the 
engine-room. 

"Nothing  for  nothing  in  this  world  of  woe,"  the 
cylinders  answered,  as  though  they  had  been  working 
for  centuries,  "  and  precious  little  for  seventy-five 
pounds  head.  We  've  made  two  knots  this  last  hour 
and  a  quarter!  Rather  humiliating  for  eight  hundred 
horse-power,  is  n't  it? " 

"  Well,  it  's  better  than  drifting  astern,  at  any  rate. 
You  seem  rather  less— how  shall  I  put  it?— stiff  in  the 
back  than  you  were." 

"  If  you  'd  been  hammered  as  we  've  been  this  night, 
you  would  n't  be  stiff— iff— iff,  either.  Theoreti— retti 
— retti— cally,  of  course,  rigidity  is  the  thing.  Purrr— 
purr— practically,  there  has  to  be  a  little  give  and  take. 
We  found  that  out  by  working  on  our  sides  for  five 
minutes  at  a  stretch— chch—chh.  How 's  the  weather? " 

"  'Sea  's  going  down  fast,"  said  the  Steam. 
[101] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

"Good  business,"  said  the  high-pressure  cylinder. 
"  Whack  her  up,  boys.  They  've  given  us  five  pounds 
more  steam";  and  he  began  humming  the  first  bars 
of  "Said  the  young  Obadiah  to  the  old  Obadiah," 
which,  as  you  may  have  noticed,  is  a  pet  tune  among 
engines  not  built  for  high  speed.  Racing-liners  with 
twin-screws  sing  "  The  Turkish  Patrol"  and  the  over 
ture  to  the  "Bronze  Horse,"  and  "Madame  Angot," 
till  something  goes  wrong,  and  then  they  render 
Gounod's  "  Funeral  March  of  a  Marionette,"  with 
variations. 

"  You  '11  learn  a  song  of  your  own  some  fine  day," 
said  the  Steam,  as  he  flew  up  the  fog-horn  for  one  last 
bellow. 

Next  day  the  sky  cleared  and  the  sea  dropped  a  little, 
and  the  Dimbula  began  to  roll  from  side  to  side  till 
every  inch  of  iron  in  her  was  sick  and  giddy.  But 
luckily  they  did  not  all  feel  ill  at  the  same  time :  other 
wise  she  would  have  opened  out  like  a  wet  paper  box. 

The  Steam  whistled  warnings  as  he  went  about  his 
business :  it  is  in  this  short,  quick  roll  and  tumble  that 
follows  a  heavy  sea  that  most  of  the  accidents  happen, 
for  then  everything  thinks  that  the  worst  is  over  and 
goes  off  guard.  So  he  orated  and  chattered  till  the 
beams  and  frames  and  floors  and  stringers  and  things 
had  learned  how  to  lock  down  and  lock  up  on  one 
another,  and  endure  this  new  kind  of  strain. 

They  found  ample  time  to  practise,  for  they  were  six 
teen  days  at  sea,  and  it  was  foul  weather  till  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  New  York.  The  Dimbula  picked  up 
her  pilot,  and  came  in  covered  with  salt  and  red  rust. 
[102] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

Her  funnel  was  dirty-grey  from  top  to  bottom;  two 
boats  had  been  carried  away;  three  copper  ventilators 
looked  like  hats  after  a  fight  with  the  police ;  the  bridge 
had  a  dimple  in  the  middle  of  it ;  the  house  that  covered 
the  steam  steering-gear  was  split  as  with  hatchets ;  there 
was  a  bill  for  small  repairs  in  the  engine-room  almost 
as  long  as  the  screw-shaft;  the  forward  cargo-hatch  fell 
into  bucket-staves  when  they  raised  the  iron  cross-bars ; 
and  the  steam-capstan  had  been  badly  wrenched  on  its 
bed.  Altogether,  as  the  skipper  said,  it  was  "  a  pretty 
general  average." 

' '  But  she 's  soupled, ' '  he  said  to  Mr.  Buchanan.  *  *  For 
all  her  dead  weight  she  rode  like  a  yacht.  Ye  mind 
that  last  blow  off  the  Banks?  I  am  proud  of  her, 
Buck." 

"It  's  vera  good,"  said  the  chief  engineer,  looking 
along  the  dishevelled  decks.  "  Now,  a  man  judgin' 
superfeecially  would  say  we  were  a  wreck,  but  we  know 
otherwise— by  experience." 

Naturally  everything  in  the  Dimbula  fairly  stiffened 
with  pride,  and  the  foremast  and  the  forward  collision- 
bulkhead,  who  are  pushing  creatures,  begged  the  Steam 
to  warn  the  Port  of  New  York  of  their  arrival.  "  Tell 
those  big  boats  all  about  us,"  they  said.  "  They  seem 
to  take  us  quite  as  a  matter  of  course." 

It  was  a  glorious,  clear,  dead  calm  morning,  and  in 
single  file,  with  less  than  half  a  mile  between  each,  their 
bands  playing  and  their  tugboats  shouting  and  waving 
handkerchiefs,  were  the  Majestic,  the  Paris,  the  Tou- 
raine,  the  Servia,  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II. ,  and  the  Wer- 
kendam,  all  statelily  going  out  to  sea.  As  the  Dimbula 
[103] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  POUND  HERSELF 

shifted  her  helm  to  give  the  great  boats  cleai  way,  the 
Steam  (who  knows  far  too  much  to  mind  making  an  ex 
hibition  of  himself  now  and  then)  shouted : 

"Oyez!  Oyez!  Oyez!  Princes,  Dukes,  and  Barons  of 
the  High  Seas!  Know  ye  by  these  presents,  we  are  the 
Dimbula,  fifteen  days  nine  hours  from  Liverpool,  hav 
ing  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  four  thousand  ton  of  cargo 
for  the  first  time  in  our  career !  We  have  not  foundered. 
We  are  here.  'Eer!  'Eer!  We  are  not  disabled.  But 
we  have  had  a  time  wholly  unparalleled  in  the  annals 
of  ship-building !  Our  decks  were  swept !  We  pitched ; 
we  rolled!  We  thought  we  were  going  to  die!  Hi!  Hi! 
But  we  did  n't.  We  wish  to  give  notice  that  we  have 
come  to  New  York  all  the  way  across  the  Atlantic, 
through  the  worst  weather  in  the  world;  and  we  are 
the  Dimbula!  We  are— arr— ha— ha— ha-r-r-r!  " 

The  beautiful  line  of  boats  swept  by  as  steadily  as  the 
procession  of  the  Seasons.  The  Dimbula  heard  the  Ma 
jestic  say,  "  Hmph!  "  and  the  Paris  grunted,  "  How  !  " 
and  the  Touraine  said,  "  Oui! "  with  a  little  coquettish 
flicker  of  steam;  and  the  Servia  said,  "  Haw!  "  and  the 
Kaiser  and  the  Werkendam  said,  "  Hoch!  "  Dutch  fash 
ion—and  that  was  absolutely  all. 

"I  did  my  best,"  said  the  Steam,  gravely,  "but  I 
don't  think  they  were  much  impressed  with  us,  some 
how.  Do  you? " 

u  It ' s  simply  disgusting, ' '  said  the  bow-plates.  *  *  They 
might  have  seen  what  we '  ve  been  through.  There  is  n'  t 
a  ship  on  the  sea  that  has  suffered  as  we  have— is  there, 
now?" 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  go  so  far  as  that,"  said  the  Steam, 
"  because  I  've  worked  on  some  of  those  boats,  and  sent 
[104] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

them  through  weather  quite  as  bad  as  the  fortnight  that 
we  've  had,  in  six  days;  and  some  of  them  are  a  little 
over  ten  thousand  tons,  I  believe.  Now  I  Ve  seen  the 
Majestic,  for  instance,  ducked  from  her  bows  to  her  fun 
nel;  and  I  've  helped  the  Arizona,  I  think  she  was,  to 
back  off  an  iceberg  she  met  with  one  dark  night;  and  I 
had  to  run  out  of  the  Parish  engine-room,  one  day,  be 
cause  there  was  thirty  foot  of  water  in  it.  Of  course,  I 
don't  deny—"  The  Steam  shut  off  suddenly,  as  a  tug 
boat,  loaded  with  a  political  club  and  a  brass  band,  that 
had  been  to  see  a  New  York  Senator  off  to  Europe, 
crossed  their  bows,  going  to  Hoboken.  There  was  a 
long  silence  that  reached,  without  a  break,  from  the 
cut-water  to  the  propeller-blades  of  the  Dimbula. 

Then  a  new,  big  voice  said  slowly  and  thickly,  as 
though  the  owner  had  just  waked  up:  "It  's  my  con 
viction  that  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself. ' ' 

The  Steam  knew  what  had  happened  at  once;  for 
when  a  ship  finds  herself  all  the  talking  of  the  separate 
pieces  ceases  and  melts  into  one  voice,  which  is  the 
soul  of  the  ship. 

"  Who  are  you? "  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  am  the  Dimbula,  of  course.  I  've  never  been  any 
thing  else  except  that— and  a  fool!  " 

The  tugboat,  which  was  doing  its  very  best  to  be 
run  down,  got  away  just  in  time;  its  band  playing 
clashily  and  brassily  a  popular  but  impolite  air: 

In  the  days  of  old  Barneses— are  you  on! 

In  the  days  of  old  Barneses— are  you  on? 

In  the  days  of  old  Barneses, 

That  story  had  paresis, 

Are  you  on— are  you  on— are  you  on  f 

[105] 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  you  've  found  yourself,"  said  the 
Steam.  '  *  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  tired  of  talking 
to  all  those  ribs  and  stringers.  Here  's  Quarantine. 
After  that  we  '11  go  to  our  wharf  and  clean  up  a  little, 
and— next  month  we  '11  do  it  all  over  again." 


[106] 


THE  TOMB  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 


THE   TOMB   OF   HIS   ANCESTORS 

SOME  people  will  tell  you  that  if  there  were  but  a 
single  loaf  of  bread  in  all  India  it  would  be  divided 
equally  between  the  Plowdens,  the  Trevors,  the  Bea- 
dons,  and  the  Eivett-Carnacs.  That  is  only  one  way  of 
saying  that  certain  families  serve  India  generation  after 
generation,  as  dolphins  follow  in  line  across  the  open 


Let  us  take  a  small  and  obscure  ca^e.  There  has 
been  at  least  one  representative  of  the  Devonshire 
Chinns  in  or  near  Central  India  since  the  days  of  Lieu 
tenant-Fireworker  Humphrey  Chinn,  of  the  Bombay 
European  Regiment,  who  assisted  at  the  capture  of 
Seringapatam  in  1799.  Alfred  Ellis  Chinn,  Humphrey's 
younger  brother,  commanded  a  regiment  of  Bombay 
grenadiers  from  1804  to  1813,  when  he  saw  some  mixed 
fighting;  and  in  1834  John  Chum  of  the  same  family 
—we  will  call  him  John  Chinn  the  First— came  to  light 
as  a  level-headed  administrator  in  time  of  trouble  at  a 
place  called  Mundesur.  He  died  young,  but  left  his 
mark  on  the  new  country,  and  the  Honourable  the  Board 
of  Directors  of  the  Honourable  the  East  India  Company 
[109] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

embodied  his  virtues  in  a  stately  resolution,  and  paid 
for  the  expenses  of  his  tomb  among  the  Satpura  hills. 

He  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Lionel  Chinn,  who  left 
the  little  old  Devonshire  home  just  in  tune  to  be  severely 
wounded  in  the  Mutiny.  He  spent  his  working  life 
within  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  John  Chinn 's  grave, 
and  rose  to  the  command  of  a  regiment  of  small,  wild 
hill-men,  most  of  whom  had  known  his  father.  His 
son  John  was  born  in  the  small  thatched-roofed,  mud- 
walled  cantonment,  which  is  even  to-day  eighty  miles 
from  the  nearest  railway,  in  the  heart  of  a  scrubby, 
tigerish  country.  Colonel  Lionel  Chinn  served  thirty 
years  and  retired.  In  the  Canal  his  steamer  passed  the 
outward-bound  troop- ship,  carrying  his  son  eastward  to 
the  family  duty. 

The  Chinns  are  luckier  than  most  folk,  because  they 
know  exactly  what  they  must  do.  A  clever  Chinn 
passes  for  the  Bombay  Civil  Service,  and  gets  away  to 
Central  India,  where  everybody  is  glad  to  see  him.  A 
dull  Chinn  enters  the  Police  Department  or  the  Woods 
and  Forest,  and  sooner  or  later  he,  too,  appears  in 
Central  India,  and  that  is  what  gave  rise  to  the  saying, 
"  Central  India  is  inhabited  by  Bhils,  Mairs,  and  Chinns, 
all  very  much  alike."  The  breed  is  small-boned,  dark, 
and  silent,  and  the  stupidest  of  them  are  good  shots. 
John  Chinn  the  Second  was  rather  clever,  but  as  the 
eldest  son  he  entered  the  army,  according  to  Chinn 
tradition.  His  duty  was  to  abide  in  his  father's  regi 
ment  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life,  though  the  corps 
was  one  which  most  men  would  have  paid  heavily  to 
avoid.  They  were  irregulars,  small,  dark,  and  blackish, 
[110] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

clothed  in  rifle-green  with  black-leather  trimmings; 
and  friends  called  them  the  u  Wuddars,"  which  means 
a  race  of  low-caste  people  who  dig  up  rats  to  eat.  But 
the  Wuddars  did  not  resent  it.  They  were  the  only 
Wuddars,  and  their  points  of  pride  were  these : 

Firstly,  they  had  fewer  English  officers  than  any 
native  regiment.  Secondly,  their  subalterns  were  not 
mounted  on  parade,  as  is  the  general  rule,  but  walked 
at  the  head  of  their  men.  A  man  who  can  hold  his 
own  with  the  Wuddars  at  their  quickstep  must  be 
sound  in  wind  and  limb.  Thirdly,  they  were  the  most 
pukka  shikarries  (out-and-out  hunters)  in  all  India. 
Fourthly— up  to  one  hundredthly— they  were  the  Wud 
dars— Chinn's  Irregular  Bhil  Levies  of  the  old  days, 
but  now,  henceforward  and  for  ever,  the  Wuddars. 

No  Englishman  entered  their  mess  except  for  love 
or  through  family  usage.  The  officers  talked  to  their 
soldiers  in  a  tongue  not  two  hundred  white  folk  in  India 
understood ;  and  the  men  were  their  children,  all  drawn 
from  the  Bhils,  who  are,  perhaps,  the  strangest  of  the 
many  strange  races  in  India.  They  were,  and  at  heart 
are,  wild  men,  furtive,  shy,  full  of  untold  superstitions. 
The  races  whom  we  call  natives  of  the  country  found 
the  Bhil  in  possession  of  the  land  when  they  first  broke 
into  that  part  of  the  world  thousands  of  years  ago.  The 
books  call  them  Pre- Aryan,  Aboriginal,  Dravidian,  and 
so  forth;  and,  in  other  words,  that  is  what  the  Bhils  call 
themselves.  When  a  Rajput  chief  whose  bards  can 
sing  his  pedigree  backwards  for  twelve  hundred  years 
is  set  on  the  throne,  his  investiture  is  not  complete  till 
he  has  been  marked  on  the  forehead  with  blood  from 

[in] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

the  veins  of  a  Bhil.  The  Rajputs  say  the  ceremony  has 
no  meaning,  but  the  Bhil  knows  that  it  is  the  last,  last 
shadow  of  his  old  rights  as  the  long-ago  owner  of  the 
soil. 

Centuries  of  oppression  and  massacre  made  the  Bhil 
a  cruel  and  half-crazy  thief  and  cattle-stealer,  and  when 
the  English  came  he  seemed  to  be  almost  as  open  to 
civilisation  as  the  tigers  of  his  own  jungles.  But  John 
Chinn  the  First,  father  of  Lionel,  grandfather  of  our 
John,  went  into  his  country,  lived  with  him,  learned 
his  language,  shot  the  deer  that  stole  his  poor  crops, 
and  won  his  confidence,  so  that  some  Bhils  learned  to 
plough  and  sow,  while  others  were  coaxed  into  the  Com 
pany's  service  to  police  their  friends. 

"When  they  understood  that  standing  in  line  did  not 
mean  instant  execution,  they  accepted  soldiering  as  a 
cumbrous  but  amusing  kind  of  sport,  and  were  zealous 
to  keep  the  wild  Bhils  under  control.  That  was  the 
thin  edge  of  the  wedge.  John  Chinn  the  First  gave  them 
written  promises  that,  if  they  were  good  from  a  certain 
date,  the  Government  would  overlook  previous  offences; 
and  since  John  Chinn  was  never  known  to  break  his 
word— he  promised  once  to  hang  a  Bhil  locally  esteemed 
invulnerable,  and  hanged  him  in  front  of  his  tribe  for 
seven  proved  murders— the  Bhils  settled  down  as  stead 
ily  as  they  knew  how.  It  was  slow,  unseen  work,  of 
the  sort  that  is  being  done  all  over  India  to-day;  and 
though  John  Chinn' s  only  reward  came,  as  I  have  said, 
in  the  shape  of  a  grave  at  Government  expense,  the 
little  people  of  the  hills  never  forgot  him. 

Colonel  Lionel  Chirm  knew  and  loved  them,  too,  and 
[112] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

they  were  very  fairly  civilised,  for  Bhils,  before  his 
service  ended.  Many  of  them  could  hardly  be  distin 
guished  from  low-caste  Hindoo  farmers ;  but  in  the  south, 
where  John  Chinn  the  First  was  buried,  the  wildest 
still  clung  to  the  Satpura  ranges,  cherishing  a  legend 
that  some  day  Jan  Chinn,  as  they  called  him,  would 
return  to  his  own.  In  the  mean  time  they  mistrusted 
the  white  man  and  his  ways.  The  least  excitement 
would  stampede  them,  plundering,  at  random,  and  now 
and  then  killing;  but  if  they  were  handled  discreetly 
they  grieved  like  children,  and  promised  never  to  do  it 
again. 

The  Bhils  of  the  regiment — the  uniformed  men— were 
virtuous  in  many  ways,  but  they  needed  humouring. 
They  felt  bored  and  homesick  unless  taken  after  tiger 
as  beaters;  and  their  cold-blooded  daring— all  "Wuddars 
shoot  tigers  on  foot:  it  is  their  caste-mark—made  even 
the  officers  wonder.  They  would  follow  up  a  wounded 
tiger  as  unconcernedly  as  though  it  were  a  sparrow 
with  a  broken  wing;  and  this  through  a  country  full 
of  caves  and  rifts  and  pits,  where  a  wild  beast  could 
hold  a  dozen  men  at  his  mercy.  Now  and  then  some 
little  man  was  brought  to  barracks  with  his  head 
smashed  in  or  his  ribs  torn  away;  but  his  companions 
never  learned  caution ;  they  contented  themselves  with 
settling  the  tiger. 

Young  John  Chinn  was  decanted  at  the  verandah  of 
the  Wuddars'  lonely  mess-house  from  the  back  seat  of  a 
two-wheeled  cart,  his  gun-cases  cascading  all  round 
him.  The  slender  little,  hookey-nosed  boy  looked  for 
lorn  as  a  strayed  goat  when  he  slapped  the  white  dust 
[113] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

off  his  knees,  and  the  cart  jolted  down  the  glaring  road. 
But  in  his  heart  he  was  contented.  After  all,  this  was 
the  place  where  he  had  been  born,  and  things  were  not 
much  changed  since  he  had  been  sent  to  England,  a 
child,  fifteen  years  ago. 

There  were  a  few  new  buildings,  but  the  air  and  the 
smell  and  the  sunshine  were  the  same;  and  the  little 
green  men  who  crossed  the  parade-ground  looked  very 
familiar.  Three  weeks  ago  John  Chinn  would  have 
said  he  did  not  remember  a  word  of  the  Bhil  tongue, 
but  at  the  mess  door  he  found  his  lips  moving  in  sen 
tences  that  he  did  not  understand— bits  of  old  nursery 
rhymes,  and  tail-ends  of  such  orders  as  his  father  used 
to  give  the  men. 

The  Colonel  watched  him  come  up  the  steps,  and 
laughed. 

"Look!"  he  said  to  the  Major.  "No  need  to  ask 
the  young  un's  breed.  He  's  a  pukka  Chinn.  'Might 
be  his  father  in  the  Fifties  over  again." 

"Hope  he  '11  shoot  as  straight,"  said  the  Major. 
"He  's  brought  enough  ironmongery  with  him." 

"  'Would  n't  be  a  Chinn  if  he  did  n't.  Watch  him 
blowin'  his  nose.  'Regular  Chinn  beak.  'Flourishes 
his  handkerchief  like  his  father.  It  's  the  second  edi 
tion—line  for  line." 

"'Fairy  tale,  by  Jove!"  said  the  Major,  peering 
through  the  slats  of  the  jalousies.  "  If  he  's  the  lawful 
heir,  he  '11  .  .  .  Now  old  Chinn  could  no  more  pass 
that  chick  without  fiddling  with  it  than  ..." 

'  *  His  son ! ' '  said  the  Colonel,  jumping  up. 

"  Well,  I  be  blowed !  "  said  the  Major.  The  boy's  eye 
tH4] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

had  been  caught  by  a  split-reed  screen  that  hung  on  a 
slew  between  the  verandah  pillars,  and,  mechanically, 
he  had  tweaked  the  edge  to  set  it  level.  Old  Chinn 
had  sworn  three  times  a  day  at  that  screen  for  many 
years;  he  could  never  get  it  to  his  satisfaction.  His 
son  entered  the  anteroom  in  the  middle  of  a  fivefold 
silence.  They  made  him  welcome  for  his  father's  sake 
and,  as  they  took  stock  of  him,  for  his  own.  He  was 
ridiculously  like  the  portrait  of  the  Colonel  on  the 
wall,  and  when  he  had  washed  a  little  of  the  dust  from 
his  throat  he  went  to  his  quarters  with  the  old  man's 
short,  noiseless  jungle-step. 

"So  much  for  heredity,"  said  the  Major.  "That 
comes  of  four  generations  among  the  Bhils." 

' '  And  the  men  know  it, ' '  said  a  Wing  officer. 
"They  've  been  waiting  for  this  youth  with  their 
tongues  hanging  out.  I  am  persuaded  that,  unless  he 
absolutely  beats  'em  over  the  head,  they  '11  lie  down  by 
companies  and  worship  him. ' ' 

"  Nothin'  like  havin'  a  father  before  you,"  said  the 
Major.  "I  'ma  parvenu  with  my  chaps.  I  've  only 
been  twenty  years  in  the  regiment,  and  my  revered 
parent  he  was  a  simple  squire.  There  's  no  getting  at 
the  bottom  of  a  Bhil's  mind.  Now,  why  is  the  superior 
bearer  that  young  Chinn  brought  with  him  fleeing 
across  country  with  his  bundle? "  He  stepped  into  the 
verandah,  and  shouted  after  the  man— a  typical  new- 
joined  subaltern's  servant  who  speaks  English  and 
cheats  in  proportion. 

"  What  is  it? "  he  called. 

"Plenty  bad  man  here.  I  going,  sar,"  was  the 
[115] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

reply.      "  Have   taken    Sahib's    keys,    and   say   will 
shoot." 

"  Doocid  lucid— doocid  convincin'.  How  those  up- 
country  thieves  can  leg  it !  He  has  been  badly  fright 
ened  by  some  one."  The  Major  strolled  to  his  quarters 
to  dress  for  mess. 

Young  Chinn,  walking  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  had 
fetched  a  compass  round  the  entire  cantonment  before 
going  to  his  own  tiny  cottage.  The  captain's  quarters, 
in  which  he  had  been  born,  delayed  him  for  a  little; 
then  he  looked  at  the  well  on  the  parade-ground,  where 
he  had  sat  of  evenings  with  his  nurse,  and  at  the  ten-by- 
fourteen  church,  where  the  officers  went  to  service  if 
a  chaplain  of  any  official  creed  happened  to  come  along. 
It  seemed  very  small  as  compared  with  the  gigantic 
buildings  he  used  to  stare  up  at,  but  it  was  the  same 
place. 

From  time  to  time  he  passed  a  knot  of  silent  soldiers, 
who  saluted.  They  might  have  been  the  very  men 
who  had  carried  him  on  their  backs  when  he  was  iii 
his  first  knickerbockers.  A  faint  light  burned  in  his 
room,  and,  as  he  entered,  hands  clasped  his  feet,  and  a 
voice  murmured  from  the  floor. 

4 'Who  is  it?"  said  young  Chinn,  not  knowing  he 
spoke  in  the  Bhil  tongue. 

**  I  bore  you  in  my  arms,  Sahib,  when  I  was  a  strong 
man  and  you  were  a  small  one— crying,  crying,  crying! 
I  am  your  servant,  as  I  was  your  father's  before  you. 
We  are  all  your  servants. ' ' 

Young  Chinn  could  not  trust  himself  to  reply,  and 
the  voice  went  on : 

[116] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"I  have  taken  your  keys  from  that  fat  foreigner, 
and  sent  him  away;  and  the  studs  are  in  the  shirt  for 
mess.  Who  should  know,  if  I  do  not  know?  And  so 
the  baby  has  become  a  man,  and  forgets  his  nurse ;  but 
my  nephew  shall  make  a  good  servant,  or  I  will  beat 
him  twice  a  day." 

Then  there  rose  up,  with  a  rattle,  as  straight  as  a  Bhil 
arrow,  a  little  white-haired  wizened  ape  of  a  man,  with 
medals  and  orders  on  his  tunic,  stammering,  saluting, 
and  trembling.  Behind  him  a  young  and  wiry  Bhil,  in 
uniform,  was  taking  the  trees  out  of  Chinn's  mess-boots. 

Chinn's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  The  old  man  held 
out  his  keys. 

"  Foreigners  are  bad  people.  He  will  never  come 
back  again.  We  are  all  servants  of  your  father's  son. 
Has  the  Sahib  forgotten  who  took  him  to  see  the  trapped 
tiger  in  the  village  across  the  river,  when  his  mother 
was  so  frightened  and  he  was  so  brave? " 

The  scene  came  back  to  Chinn  in  great  magic-lantern 
flashes.  *  *  Bukta !  "  he  cried ;  and  all  in  a  breath :  ' '  You 
promised  nothing  should  hurt  me.  Is  it  Bukta? " 

The  man  was  at  his  feet  a  second  time.  "  He  has  not 
forgotten.  He  remembers  his  own  people  as  his  father 
remembered.  Now  can  I  die.  But  first  I  will  live  and 
show  the  Sahib  how  to  kill  tigers.  That  that  yonder  is 
my  nephew.  If  he  is  not  a  good  servant,  beat  him  and 
send  him  to  me,  and  I  will  surely  kill  him,  for  now  the 
Sahib  is  with  his  own  people.  Ai,  Jan  baba— Jan  baba! 
My  Jan  baba!  I  will  stay  here  and  see  that  this  does 
his  work  well.  Take  off  his  boots,  fool.  Sit  down  upon 
the  bed,  Sahib,  and  let  me  look.  It  is  Jan 
[117] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

He  pushed  forward  the  hilt  of  his  sword  as  a  sign  of 
service,  which  is  an  honour  paid  only  to  viceroys,  gov 
ernors,  generals,  or  to  little  children  whom  one  loves 
dearly.  Chinn  touched  the  hilt  mechanically  with  three 
fingers,  muttering  he  knew  not  what.  It  happened  to 
be  the  old  answer  of  his  childhood,  when  Bukta  in  jest 
called  him  the  little  General  Sahib. 

The  Major's  quarters  were  opposite  Chinn' s,  and 
when  he  heard  his  servant  gasp  with  surprise  he  looked 
across  the  room.  Then  the  Major  sat  on  the  bed  and 
whistled;  for  the  spectacle  of  the  senior  native  com 
missioned  officer  of  the  regiment,  an  ' '  unmixed ' '  Bhil, 
a  Companion  of  the  Order  of  British  India,  with  thirty- 
five  years'  spotless  service  in  the  army,  and  a  rank 
among  his  own  people  superior  to  that  of  many  Bengal 
princelings,  valeting  the  last-joined  subaltern,  was  a 
little  too  much  for  his  nerves. 

The  throaty  bugles  blew  the  Mess-call  that  has  a  long 
legend  behind  it.  First  a  few  piercing  notes  like  the 
shrieks  of  beaters  in  a  far-away  cover,  and  next,  large, 
full,  and  smooth,  the  refrain  of  the  wild  song:  "And 
oh,  and  oh,  the  green  pulse  of  Mundore— Mundore! " 

41  All  little  children  were  in  bed  when  the  Sahib  heard 
that  call  last, ' '  said  Bukta,  passing  Chinn  a  clean  hand 
kerchief.  The  call  brought  back  memories  of  his  cot 
under  the  mosquito-netting,  his  mother's  kiss,  and  the 
sound  of  footsteps  growing  fainter  as  he  dropped  asleep 
among  his  men.  So  he  hooked  the  dark  collar  of  his 
new  mess-jacket,  and  went  to  dinner  like  a  prince  who 
has  newly  inherited  his  father's  crown. 

Old  Bukta  swaggered  forth  curling  his  whiskers.  He 
[118] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

knew  his  own  value,  and  no  money  and  no  rank  within 
the  gift  of  the  Government  would  have  induced  him  to 
put  studs  in  young  officers'  shirts,  or  to  hand  them 
clean  ties.  Yet,  when  he  took  off  his  uniform  that 
night,  and  squatted  among  his  fellows  for  a  quiet  smoke, 
he  told  them  what  he  had  done,  and  they  said  that  he 
was  entirely  right.  Thereat  Bukta  propounded  a  theory 
which  to  a  white  mind  would  have  seemed  raving  in 
sanity;  but  the  whispering,  level-headed  little  men  of 
war  considered  it  from  every  point  of  view,  and  thought 
that  there  might  be  a  great  deal  in  it. 

At  mess  under  the  oil-lamps  the  talk  turned  as  usual 
to  the  unfailing  subject  of  shikar— big  game-shooting  of 
every  kind  and  under  all  sorts  of  conditions.  Young 
Chinn  opened  his  eyes  when  he  understood  that  each 
one  of  his  companions  had  shot  several  tigers  in  the 
Wuddar  style— on  foot,  that  is— making  no  more  of  the 
business  than  if  the  brute  had  been  a  dog. 

"  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,"  said  the  Major,  "  a  tiger 
is  almost  as  dangerous  as  a  porcupine.  But  the  tenth 
time  you  come  home  feet  first." 

That  set  all  talking,  and  long  before  midnight  Chinn 's 
brain  was  in  a  whirl  with  stories  of  tigers— man-eaters 
and  cattle-killers  each  pursuing  his  own  business  as 
methodically  as  clerks  in  an  office;  new  tigers  that  had 
lately  come  into  such-and-such  a  district;  and  old, 
friendly  beasts  of  great  cunning,  known  by  nicknames 
in  the  mess— such  as  "Puggy,"  who  was  lazy,  with 
huge  paws,  and  "  Mrs.  Malaprop,"  who  turned  up  when 
you  never  expected  her,  and  made  female  noises.  Then 
they  spoke  of  Bhil  superstitions,  a  wide  and  picturesque 

[119] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

field,  till  young  Chinn  hinted  that  they  must  be  pulling 
his  leg. 

"  'Deed,  we  are  n't,"  said  a  man  on  his  left.  "  We 
know  all  about  you.  You  're  a  Chinn  and  all  that,  and 
you  've  a  sort  of  vested  right  here;  but  if  you  don't 
believe  what  we  're  telling  you,  what  will  you  do  when 
old  Bukta  begins  his  stories?  He  knows  about  ghost- 
tigers,  and  tigers  that  go  to  a  hell  of  their  own;  and 
tigers  that  walk  on  their  hind  feet;  and  your  grand 
papa's  riding-tiger,  as  well.  'Odd  he  has  n't  spoken  of 
that  yet." 

"  You  know  you  've  an  ancestor  buried  down  Satpura 
way,  don't  you?"  said  the  Major,  as  Chinn  smiled 
irresolutely. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Chinn,  who  had  the  chronicle 
of  the  Book  of  Chinn  by  heart.  It  lies  in  a  worn  old 
ledger  on  the  Chinese  lacquer  table  behind  the  piano  in 
the  Devonshire  home,  and  the  children  are  allowed  to 
look  at  it  on  Sundays. 

' '  Well,  I  was  n't  sure.  Your  revered  ancestor,  my  boy, 
according  to  the  Bhils,  has  a  tiger  of  his  own— a  saddle- 
tiger  that  he  rides  round  the  country  whenever  he  feels 
inclined.  I  don't  call  it  decent  in  an  ex-Collector's 
ghost;  but  that  is  what  the  Southern  Bhils  believe. 
Even  our  men,  who  might  be  called  moderately  cool, 
don't  care  to  beat  that  country  if  they  hear  that  Jan 
Chinn  is  running  about  on  his  tiger.  It  is  supposed  to 
be  a  clouded  animal— not  stripy,  but  blotchy,  like  a 
tortoise-shell  tom-cat.  No  end  of  a  brute,  it  is,  and  a 
sure  sign  of  war  or  pestilence  or— or  something.  There 's 
a  nice  family  legend  for  you." 
[120] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"What  's  the  origin  of  it,  d'  you  suppose?"  said 
Chinn. 

"  Ask  the  Satpura  Bhils.  Old  Jan  Chinn  was  a 
mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
tiger's  revenge,  or  perhaps  he  's  huntin'  'em  still.  You 
must  go  to  his  tomb  one  of  these  days  and  inquire. 
Bukta  will  probably  attend  to  that.  He  was  asking  me 
before  you  came  whether  by  any  ill-luck  you  had  al 
ready  bagged  your  tiger.  If  not,  he  is  going  to  enter 
you  under  his  own  wing.  Of  course,  for  you  of  all  men 
it  's  imperative.  You  '11  have  a  first-class  time  with 
Bukta." 

The  Major  was  not  wrong.  Bukta  kept  an  anxious 
eye  on  young  Chinn  at  drill,  and  it  was  noticeable  that 
the  first  time  the  new  officer  lifted  up  his  voice  in  an 
order  the  whole  line  quivered.  Even  the  Colonel  was 
taken  aback,  for  it  might  have  been  Lionel  Chinn  re 
turned  from  Devonshire  with  a  new  lease  of  life.  Bukta 
had  continued  to  develop  his  peculiar  theory  among  his 
intimates,  and  it  was  accepted  as  a  matter  of  faith  in  the 
lines,  since  every  word  and  gesture  on  young  Chinn 's 
part  so  confirmed  it. 

The  old  man  arranged  early  that  his  darling  should 
wipe  out  the  reproach  of  not  having  shot  a  tiger;  but  he 
was  not  content  to  take  the  first  or  any  beast  that  hap 
pened  to  arrive.  In  his  own  villages  he  dispensed  the 
high,  low,  and  middle  justice,  and  when  his  people— 
naked  and  fluttered— came  to  him  with  word  of  a  beast 
marked  down,  he  bade  them  send  spies  to  the  kills  and 
the  watering-places,  that  he  might  be  sure  the  quarry 
was  such  an  one  as  suited  the  dignity  of  such  a  man. 
[121] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

Three  or  four  times  the  reckless  trackers  returned, 
most  truthfully  saying  that  the  beast  was  mangy, 
undersized— a  tigress  worn  with  nursing,  or  a  broken- 
toothed  old  male— and  Bukta  would  curb  young  Chinn's 
impatience. 

At  last,  a  noble  animal  was  marked  down— a  ten-foot 
cattle-killer  with  a  huge  roll  of  loose  skin  along  the 
belly,  glossy-hided,  full-frilled  about  the  neck,  whis 
kered,  frisky,  and  young.  He  had  slain  a  man  in  pure 
sport,  they  said. 

"Let  him  be  fed,"  quoth  Bukta,  and  the  villagers 
dutifully  drove  out  a  cow  to  amuse  him,  that  he  might 
lie  up  near  by. 

Princes  and  potentates  have  taken  ship  to  India  and 
spent  great  moneys  for  the  mere  glimpse  of  beasts  one- 
half  as  fine  as  this  of  Bukta' s. 

"It  is  not  good,"  said  he  to  the  Colonel,  when  he 
asked  for  shooting-leave,  "  that  my  Colonel's  son  who 
may  be— that  my  Colonel's  son  should  lose  his  maiden 
head  on  any  small  jungle  beast.  That  may  come  after. 
I  have  waited  long  for  this  which  is  a  tiger.  He  has 
come  in  from  the  Mair  country.  In  seven  days  we  will 
return  with  the  skin." 

The  mess  gnashed  their  teeth  enviously.  Bukta,  had 
he  chosen,  might  have  invited  them  all.  But  he  went 
out  alone  with  Chinn,  two  days  in  a  shooting-cart  and 
a  day  on  foot,  till  they  came  to  a  rocky,  glary  valley 
with  a  pool  of  good  water  in  it.  It  was  a  parching  day, 
and  the  boy  very  naturally  stripped  and  went  in  for  a 
bathe,  leaving  Bukta  by  the  clothes.  A  white  skin  shows 
far  against  brown  jungle,  and  what  Bukta  beheld  on 
[122] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

Chinn's  back  and  right  shoulder  dragged  him  forward 
step  by  step  with  staring  eyeballs. 

"  I  'd  forgotten  it  is  n't  decent  to  strip  before  a  man 
of  his  position,"  said  Chinn,  flouncing  in  the  water. 
"  How  the  little  devil  stares!  What  is  it,  Bukta? " 

"  The  Mark!  "  was  the  whispered  answer. 

"It  is  nothing.  You  know  how  it  is  with  my 
people ! ' '  Chinn  was  annoyed.  The  dull-red  birth 
mark  on  his  shoulder,  something  like  a  conventional 
ised  Tartar  cloud,  had  slipped  his  memory  or  he  would 
not  have  bathed.  It  occurred,  so  they  said  at  home, 
in  alternate  generations,  appearing,  curiously  enough, 
eight  or  nine  years  after  birth,  and,  save  that  it  was 
part  of  the  Chinn  inheritance,  would  not  be  considered 
pretty.  He  hurried  ashore,  dressed  again,  and  went  on 
till  they  met  two  or  three  Bhils,  who  promptly  fell  on 
their  faces.  "  My  people,"  grunted  Bukta,  not  conde 
scending  to  notice  them.  "  And  so  your  people,  Sahib. 
When  I  was  a  young  man  we  were  fewer,  but  not  so 
weak.  Now  we  are  many,  but  poor  stock.  As  may  be 
remembered.  How  will  you  shoot  him,  Sahib?  From 
a  tree ;  from  a  shelter  which  my  people  shall  build ;  by 
day  or  by  night?" 

"  On  foot  and  in  the  daytime,"  said  young  Chinn. 

"That  was  your  custom,  as  I  have  heard,"  said 
Bukta  to  himself .  "  I  will  get  news  of  him.  Then  you 
and  I  will  go  to  him.  I  will  carry  one  gun.  You  have 
yours.  There  is  no  need  of  more.  What  tiger  shall 
stand  against  thee  ? " 

He  was  marked  down  by  a  little  water-hole  at  the 
head  of  a  ravine,  full-gorged  and  half  asleep  in  the 
[123] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

May  sunlight.  He  was  walked  up  like  a  partridge,  and 
he  turned  to  do  battle  for  his  life.  Bukta  made  no 
motion  to  raise  his  rifle,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  Chinn, 
who  met  the  shattering  roar  of  the  charge  with  a  single 
shot— it  seemed  to  him  hours  as  he  sighted— which  tore 
through  the  throat,  smashing  the  backbone  below  the 
neck  and  between  the  shoulders.  The  brute  couched, 
choked,  and  fell,  and  before  Chinn  knew  well  what  had 
happened  Bukta  bade  him  stay  still  while  he  paced  the 
distance  between  his  feet  and  the  ringing  jaws. 

"  Fifteen,"  said  Bukta.  "  Short  paces.  No  need  for 
a  second  shot,  Sahib.  He  bleeds  cleanly  where  he  lies, 
and  we  need  not  spoil  the  skin.  I  said  there  would  be 
no  need  of  these,  but  they  came— in  case." 

Suddenly  the  sides  of  the  ravine  were  crowned  with 
the  heads  of  Bukta' s  people— a  force  that  could  have 
blown  the  ribs  out  of  the  beast  had  Chinn' s  shot  failed; 
but  their  guns  were  hidden,  and  they  appeared  as  inter 
ested  beaters,  some  five  or  six  waiting  the  word  to 
skin.  Bukta  watched  the  life  fade  from  the  wild  eyes, 
lifted  one  hand,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

"  No  need  to  show  that  we  care,"  said  he.  "  Now, 
after  this,  we  can  kill  what  we  choose.  Put  out  your 
hand,  Sahib." 

Chinn  obeyed.  It  was  entirely  steady,  and  Bukta 
nodded.  "  That  also  was  your  custom.  My  men  skin 
quickly.  They  will  carry  the  skin  to  cantonments. 
Will  the  Sahib  come  to  my  poor  village  for  the  night 
and,  perhaps,  forget  that  I  am  his  officer? " 

"  But  those  men— the  beaters.  They  have  worked 
hard,  and  perhaps—" 

[124] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"  Oh,  if  they  skin  clumsily,  we  will  skin  them.  They 
are  my  people.  In  the  Lines  I  am  one  thing.  Here  I  am 
another. ' ' 

This  was  very  true.  When  Bukta  doffed  uniform  and 
reverted  to  the  fragmentary  dress  of  his  own  people,  he 
left  his  civilisation  of  drill  in  the  next  world.  That 
night,  after  a  little  talk  with  his  subjects,  he  devoted  to 
an  orgie;  and  a  Bhil  orgie  is  a  thing  not  to  be  safely 
written  about.  Chinn,  flushed  with  triumph,  was  in 
the  thick  of  it,  but  the  meaning  of  the  mysteries  was 
hidden.  Wild  folk  came  and  pressed  about  his  knees 
with  offerings.  He  gave  his  flask  to  the  elders  of  the 
village.  They  grew  eloquent,  and  wreathed  him  about 
with  flowers.  Gifts  and  loans,  not  all  seemly,  were  thrust 
upon  him,  and  infernal  music  rolled  and  maddened 
round  red  fires,  while  singers  sang  songs  of  the  ancient 
times,  and  danced  peculiar  dances.  The  aboriginal 
liquors  are  very  potent,  and  Chinn  was  compelled  to 
taste  them  often,  but,  unless  the  stuff  had  been  drugged, 
how  came  he  to  fall  asleep  suddenly,  and  to  waken  late 
the  next  day— half  a  march  from  the  village? 

"  The  Sahib  was  very  tired.  A  little  before  dawn  he 
went  to  sleep,"  Bukta  explained.  "  My  people  carried 
him  here,  and  now  it  is  time  we  should  go  back  to  can 
tonments." 

The  voice,  smooth  and  deferential,  the  step,  steady 
and  silent,  made  it  hard  to  believe  that  only  a  few 
hours  before  Bukta  was  yelling  and  capering  with 
naked  fellow-devils  of  the  scrub. 

4 '  My  people  were  very  pleased  to  see  the  Sahib.  They 
will  never  forget.  When  next  the  Sahib  goes  out  re- 
[125] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

cruiting,  he  will  go  to  my  people,  and  they  will  give 
him  as  many  men  as  we  need." 

Chinn  kept  his  own  counsel,  except  as  to  the  shooting 
of  the  tiger,  and  Bukta  embroidered  that  tale  with  a 
shameless  tongue.  The  skin  was  certainly  one  of  the 
finest  ever  hung  up  in  the  mess,  and  the  first  of  many. 
When  Bukta  could  not  accompany  his  boy  on  shooting- 
trips,  he  took  care  to  put  him  in  good  hands,  and  Chinn 
learned  more  of  the  mind  and  desire  of  the  wild  Bhil  in 
his  marches  and  campings,  by  talks  at  twilight  or  at 
wayside  pools,  than  an  uninstructed  man  could  have 
come  at  in  a  lifetime. 

Presently  his  men  in  the  regiment  grew  bold  to  speak 
of  their  relatives— mostly  in  trouble— and  to  lay  cases 
of  tribal  custom  before  him.  They  would  say,  squat 
ting  in  his  verandah  at  twilight,  after  the  easy,  confi 
dential  style  of  the  Wuddars,  that  such-and-such  a 
bachelor  had  run  away  with  such-and-such  a  wife  at 
a  far-off  village.  Now,  how  many  cows  would  Chinn 
Sahib  consider  a  just  fine?  Or,  again,  if  written  order 
came  from  the  Government  that  a  Bhil  was  to  repair  to 
a  walled  city  of  the  plains  to  give  evidence  in  a  law- 
court,  would  it  be  wise  to  disregard  that  order?  On 
the  other  hand,  if  it  were  obeyed,  would  the  rash  voy 
ager  return  alive? 

"  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  these  things? "  Chinn 
demanded  of  Bukta,  impatiently.  "  I  am  a  soldier.  I 
do  not  know  the  law." 

"  Hoo!  Law  is  for  fools  and  white  men.  Give  them 
a  large  and  loud  order,  and  they  will  abide  by  it.  Thou 
art  their  law." 

[126] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"But  wherefore?" 

Every  trace  of  expression  left  Bukta's  countenance. 
The  idea  might  have  smitten  him  for  the  first  time. 
"  How  can  I  say?  "  he  replied.  "  Perhaps  it  is  on  ac 
count  of  the  name.  A  Bhil  does  not  love  strange  things. 
Give  them  orders,  Sahib— two,  three,  four  words  at  a 
time  such  as  they  can  carry  away  in  their  heads.  That 
is  enough. ' ' 

Chinn  gave  orders  then,  valiantly,  not  realising  that 
a  word  spoken  in  haste  before  mess  became  the  dread 
unappealable  law  of  villages  beyond  the  smoky  hills- 
was,  in  truth,  no  less  than  the  Law  of  Jan  Chinn  the 
First,  who,  so  the  whispered  legend  ran,  had  come  back 
to  earth,  to  oversee  the  third  generation,  in  the  body 
and  bones  of  his  grandson. 

There  could  be  no  sort  of  doubt  in  this  matter.  All  the 
Bhils  knew  that  Jan  Chinn  reincarnated  had  honoured 
Bukta's  village  with  his  presence  after  slaying  his  first 
—in  this  life— tiger;  that  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  with 
the  people,  as  he  was  used;  and— Bukta  must  have 
drugged  Chinn's  liquor  very  deeply— upon  his  back  and 
right  shoulder  all  men  had  seen  the  same  angry  red 
Flying  Cloud  that  the  high  Gods  had  set  on  the  flesh  of 
Jan  Chinn  the  First  when  first  he  came  to  the  Bhil.  As 
concerned  the  foolish  white  world  which  has  no  eyes, 
he  was  a  slim  and  young  officer  in  the  Wuddars;  but 
his  own  people  knew  he  was  Jan  Chinn,  who  had  made 
the  Bhil  a  man ;  and,  believing,  they  hastened  to  carry 
his  words,  careful  never  to  alter  them  on  the  way. 

Because  the  savage  and  the  child  who  plays  lonely 
games  have  one  horror  of  being  laughed  at  or  questioned, 
[127] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

the  little  folk  kept  their  convictions  to  themselves ;  and 
the  Colonel,  who  thought  he  knew  his  regiment,  never 
guessed  that  each  one  of  the  six  hundred  quick-footed, 
beady-eyed  rank-and-file,  to  attention  beside  their  rifles, 
believed  serenely  and  unshakenly  that  the  subaltern  on 
the  left  flank  of  the  line  was  a  demi-god  twice  born— 
tutelary  deity  of  their  land  and  people.  The  Earth-gods 
themselves  had  stamped  the  incarnation,  and  who  would 
dare  to  doubt  the  handiwork  of  the  Earth-gods? 

Chinn,  being  practical  above  all  things,  saw  that  his 
family  name  served  him  well  in  the  lines  and  in  camp. 
His  men  gave  no  trouble— one  does  not  commit  regi 
mental  offences  with  a  God  in  the  chair  of  justice— and 
he  was  sure  of  the  best  beaters  in  the  district  when  he 
needed  them.  They  believed  that  the  protection  of  Jan 
Chinn  the  First  cloaked  them,  and  were  bold  in  that 
belief  beyond  the  utmost  daring  of  excited  Bhils. 

His  quarters  began  to  look  like  an  amateur  natural- 
history  museum,  in  spite  of  duplicate  heads  and  horns 
and  skulls  that  he  sent  home  to  Devonshire.  The 
people,  very  humanly,  learned  the  weak  side  of  their 
god.  It  is  true  he  was  unbribable,  but  bird-skins,  but 
terflies,  beetles,  and,  above  all,  news  of  big  game  pleased 
him.  In  other  respects,  t®o,  he  lived  up  to  the  Chinn 
tradition.  He  was  fever-proof.  A  night's  sitting  out 
over  a  tethered  goat  in  a  damp  valley,  that  would  have 
filled  the  Major  with  a  month's  malaria,  had  no  effect 
on  him.  He  was,  as  they  said,  "  salted  before  he  was 
born." 

Now  in  the  autumn  of  his  second  year's  service  an 
uneasy  rumour  crept  out  of  the  earth  and  ran  about 
[128] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

among  the  Bhils.  Chinn  heard  nothing  of  it  till  a 
brother-officer  said  across  the  mess- table:  "Your 
revered  ancestor  's  on  the  rampage  in  the  Satpura 
country.  You  'd  better  look  him  up." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  disrespectful,  but  I  xm  a  little 
sick  of  my  revered  ancestor.  Bukta  talks  of  nothing 
else.  What  's  the  old  boy  supposed  to  be  doing  now? " 

"Biding  cross-country  by  moonlight  on  his  proces 
sional  tiger.  That  's  the  story.  He  's  been  seen  by 
about  two  thousand  Bhils,  skipping  along  the  tops  of  the 
Satpuras,  and  scaring  people  to  death.  They  believe  it 
devoutly,  and  all  the  Satpura  chaps  are  worshipping 
away  at  his  shrine— tomb,  I  mean— like  good  'uns. 
You  really  ought  to  go  down  there.  Must  be  a  queer 
thing  to  see  your  grandfather  treated  as  a  god." 

"  What  makes  you  think  there  's  any  truth  in  the 
tale?"  said  Chinn. 

"  Because  all  our  men  deny  it.  They  say  they  Ve 
never  heard  of  Chinn's  tiger.  Now  that  's  a  manifest 
lie,  because  every  Bhil  Ms." 

"  There  's  only  one  thing  you  Ve  overlooked,"  said 
the  Colonel,  thoughtfully.  ' '  When  a  local  god  reappears 
on  earth,  it 's  always  an  excuse  for  trouble  of  some  kind; 
and  those  Satpura  Bhils  are  about  as  wild  as  your  grand 
father  left  them,  young  'un.  It  means  something." 

"  Meanin'  they  may  go  on  the  war-path?  "  said  Chinn. 

"  Can't  say— as  yet.  Should  n't  be  surprised  a  little 
bit." 

"  I  have  n't  been  told  a  syllable." 

"Proves  it  all  the  more.  They  are  keeping  some 
thing  back." 

[129] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"Bukta  tells  me  everything,  too,  as  a  rule.  KNOW, 
why  did  n't  he  tell  me  that? " 

Chinn  put  the  question  directly  to  the  old  man  that 
night,  and  the  answer  surprised  him. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  what  is  well  known?  Yes,  the 
Clouded  Tiger  is  out  in  the  Satpura  country." 

"  What  do  the  wild  Bhils  think  that  it  means? " 

"They  do  not  know.  They  wait.  Sahib,  what  is 
coming?  Say  only  one  little  word,  and  we  will  be  con 
tent." 

"  We?  What  have  tales  from  the  south,  where  the 
jungly  Bhils  live^  to  do  with  drilled  men? " 

"  When  Jan  Chinn  wakes  is  no  time  for  any  Bhil  to  be 
quiet." 

"  But  he  has  not  waked,  Bukta." 

"  Sahib  " — the  old  manls  eyes  were  full  of  tender  re 
proof—"  if  he  does  not  wish  to  be  seen,  why  does  he  go 
abroad  in  the  moonlight?  We  know  he  is  awake,  but 
we  do  not  know  what  he  desires.  Is  it  a  sign  for  all  the 
Bhils,  or  one  that  concerns  the  Satpura  folk  alone?  Say 
one  little  word,  Sahib,  that  I  may  carry  it  to  the  lines, 
and  send  on  to  our  villages.  Why  does  Jan  Chinn  ride 
out?  Who  has  done  wrong?  Is  it  pestilence?  Is  it 
murrain?  Will  our  children  die?  Is  it  a  sword?  Re 
member,  Sahib,  we  are  thy  people  and  thy  servants,  and 
in  this  life  I  bore  thee  in  my  arms— not  knowing." 

4 '  Bukta  has  evidently  looked  on  the  cup  this  even 
ing,"  Chinn  thought;  "but  if  I  can  do  anything  to 
soothe  the  old  chap  I  must.  It  's  like  the  Mutiny 
rumours  on  a  small  scale." 

He  dropped  into  a  deep  wicker  chair,  over  which  was 
[130] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

thrown  his  first  tiger-skin,  and  his  weight  on  the  cush 
ion  flapped  the  clawed  paws  over  his  shoulders.  He 
laid  hold  of  them  mechanically  as  he  spoke,  drawing 
the  painted  hide,  cloak-fashion,  about  him. 

"  Now  will  I  tell  the  truth,  Bukta,"  he  said,  leaning 
forward,  the  dried  muzzle  on  his  shoulder,  to  invent  a 
specious  He. 

* '  I  see  that  it  is  the  truth, ' '  was  the  answer,  in  a 
shaking  voice. 

"  Jan  Chinn  goes  abroad  among  the  Satpuras,  riding 
on  the  Clouded  Tiger,  ye  say?  Be  it  so.  Therefore  the 
sign  of  the  wonder  is  for  the  Satpura  Bhils  only,  and 
does  not  touch  the  Bhils  who  plough  in  the  north  and 
east,  the  Bhils  of  the  Khandesh,  or  any  others,  except  the 
Satpura  Bhils,  who,  as  we  know,  are  wild  and  foolish." 

"  It  is,  then,  a  sign  for  them.     Good  or  bad?  " 

"  Beyond  doubt,  good.  For  why  should  Jan  Chinn 
make  evil  to  those  whom  he  has  made  men?  The  nights 
over  yonder  are  hot ;  it  is  ill  to  lie  in  one  bed  over-long 
without  turning,  and  Jan  Chinn  would  look  again  upon 
his  people.  So  he  rises,  whistles  his  Clouded  Tiger,  and 
goes  abroad  a  little  to  breathe  the  cool  air.  If  the 
Satpura  Bhils  kept  to  their  villages,  and  did  not  wander 
after  dark,  they  would  not  see  him.  Indeed,  Bukta,  it 
is  no  more  than  that  he  would  see  the  light  again  in 
his  own  country.  Send  this  news  south,  and  say  that 
it  is  my  word." 

Bukta  bo  wed  to  the  floor.  * '  Good  Heavens ! ' '  thought 
Chinn,  "  and  this  blinking  pagan  is  a  first-class  officer, 
and  as  straight  as  a  die!  I  may  as  well  round  it  off 
neatly. ' '  He  went  on : 

[131] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"  If  the  Satpura  Bhils  ask  the  meaning  of  the  sign, 
tell  them  that  Jan  Chinn  would  see  how  they  kept 
their  old  promises  of  good  living.  Perhaps  they  have 
plundered;  perhaps  they  mean  to  disobey  the  orders  of 
the  Government;  perhaps  there  is  a  dead  man  in  the 
jungle;  and  so  Jan  Chinn  has  come  to  see." 

"Is  he,  then,  angry?  " 

"Bah!  Am  I  ever  angry  with  my  Bhils?  I  say 
angry  words,  and  threaten  many  things.  Thou  know- 
est,  Bukta.  I  have  seen  thee  smile  behind  the  hand. 
I  know,  and  thou  knowest.  The  Bhils  are  my  children. 
I  have  said  it  many  times." 

"  Ay.     We  be  thy  children,"  said  Bukta. 

"  And  no  otherwise  is  it  with  Jan  Chinn,  my  father's 
father.  He  would  see  the  land  he  loved  and  the  people 
once  again.  It  is  a  good  ghost,  Bukta.  I  say  it.  Go 
and  tell  them.  And  I  do  hope  devoutly,"  he  added, 
"that  it  will  calm  'em  down."  Flinging  back  the 
tiger-skin,  he  rose  with  a  long,  unguarded  yawn  that 
showed  his  well-kept  teeth. 

Bukta  fled,  to  be  received  in  the  lines  by  a  knot  of 
panting  inquirers. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Bukta.  "  He  wrapped  himself  in 
the  skin,  and  spoke  from  it.  He  would  see  his  own  coun 
try  again.  The  sign  is  not  for  us;  and,  indeed,  he  is  a 
young  man.  How  should  he  lie  idle  of  nights?  He 
says  his  bed  is  too  hot  and  the  air  is  bad.  He  goes  to 
and  fro  for  the  love  of  night-running.  He  has  said  it." 

The  grey- whiskered  assembly  shuddered. 

"  He  says  the  Bhils  are  his  children.    Ye  know  he 
does  not  lie.    He  has  said  it  to  me." 
[132] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

u  But  what  of  the  Satpura  Bhils?  What  means  the 
sign  for  them?" 

"  Nothing.  It  is  only  night-running,  as  I  have  said. 
He  rides  to  see  if  they  obey  the  Government,  as  he 
taught  them  to  do  in  his  first  life." 

"  And  what  if  they  do  not? " 

"  He  did  not  say." 

The  light  went  out  in  Chinn's  quarters. 

4 'Look,"  said  Bukta.  "Now  he  goes  away.  None 
the  less  it  is  a  good  ghost,  as  he  has  said.  How  shall 
we  fear  Jan  Chinn,  who  made  the  Bhil  a  man?  His 
protection  is  on  us ;  and  ye  know  Jan  Chinn  never  broke 
a  protection  spoken  or  written  on  paper.  When  he  is 
older  and  has  found  him  a  wife  he  will  lie  in  his  bed  till 
morning." 

A  commanding  officer  is  generally  aware  of  the  regi 
mental  state  of  mind  a  little  before  the  men;  and  this 
is  why  the  Colonel  said,  a  few  days  later,  that  some  one 
had  been  putting  the  Fear  of  God  into  the  Wuddars. 
As  he  was  the  only  person  officially  entitled  to  do  this, 
it  distressed  him  to  see  such  unanimous  virtue.  "  It  's 
too  good  to  last,"  he  said.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  find 
out  what  the  little  chaps  mean." 

The  explanation,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  came  at  the 
change  of  the  moon,  when  he  received  orders  to  hold 
himself  in  readiness  to  "  allay  any  possible  excitement " 
among  the  Satpura  Bhils,  who  were,  to  put  it  mildly, 
uneasy  because  a  paternal  Government  had  sent  up 
against  thejn  a  Mahratta  State-educated  vaccinator, 
with  lancets,  lymph,  and  an  officially  registered  calf. 
In  the  language  of  State,  they  had  "  manifested  a  strong 
[133] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

objection  to  all  prophylactic  measures,"  had  "  forcibly 
detained  the  vaccinator, ' '  and  ' '  were  on  the  point  of 
neglecting  or  evading  their  tribal  obligations." 

"  That  means  they  are  in  a  blue  funk— same  as  they 
were  at  census- time, "  said  the  Colonel;  "and  if  we 
stampede  them  into  the  hills  we  '11  never  catch  'em,  in 
the  first  place,  and,  in  the  second,  they  '11  whoop  off 
plundering  till  further  orders.  Wonder  who  the  God 
forsaken  idiot  is  who  is  trying  to  vaccinate  a  Bhil.  I 
knew  trouble  was  coming.  One  good  thing  is  that 
they  '11  only  use  local  corps,  and  we  can  knock  up 
something  we  '11  call  a  campaign,  and  let  them  down 
easy.  Fancy  us  potting  our  best  beaters  because  they 
don't  want  to  be  vaccinated!  They  're  only  crazy  with 
fear." 

"Don't  you  think,  sir,"  said  Chinn,  the  next  day, 
"  that  perhaps  you  could  give  me  a  fortnight's  shooting- 
leave?" 

* '  Desertion  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  by  Jove ! ' '  The 
Colonel  laughed.  "  I  might,  but  I  'd  have  to  antedate  it 
a  little,  because  we  're  warned  for  service,  as  you  might 
say.  However,  we  '11  assume  that  you  applied  for 
leave  three  days  ago,  and  are  now  well  on  your  way 
south." 

"  I  'd  like  to  take  Bukta  with  me." 

"  Of  course,  yes.  I  think  that  will  be  the  best  plan. 
You  've  some  kind  of  hereditary  influence  with  the 
little  chaps,  and  they  may  listen  to  you  when  a  glimpse 
of  our  uniforms  would  drive  them  wild.  You  've  never 
been  in  that  part  of  the  world  before,  have  you?  Take 
care  they  don't  send  you  to  your  family  vault  in  your 
[134] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

youth  and  innocence.  I  believe  you  '11  be  all  right  if 
you  can  get  'em  to  listen  to  you." 

"  I  think  so,  sir;  but  if— if  they  should  accidentally 
put  an— make  asses  of  'emselves— they  might,  you 
know— I  hope  you  '11  represent  that  they  were  only 
frightened.  There  is  n't  an  ounce  of  real  vice  in  'em, 
and  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  any  one  of —of  my 
name  got  them  into  trouble." 

The  Colonel  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

Chinn  and  Bukta  departed  at  once.  Bukta  did  not 
say  that,  ever  since  the  official  vaccinator  had  been 
dragged  into  the  hills  by  indignant  Bhils,  runner  after 
runner  had  skulked  up  to  the  lines,  entreating,  with 
forehead  in  the  dust,  that  Jan  Chinn  should  come  and 
explain  this  unknown  horror  that  hung  over  his  people. 

The  portent  of  the  Clouded  Tiger  was  now  too  clear. 
Let  Jan  Chinn  comfort  his  own,  for  vain  was  the  help 
of  mortal  man.  Bukta  toned  down  these  beseechings 
to  a  simple  request  for  Chinn 's  presence.  Nothing 
would  have  pleased  the  old  man  better  than  a  rough- 
and-tumble  campaign  against  the  Satpuras,  whom  he, 
as  an  "  unmixed 15>  Bhil,  despised;  but  he  had  a  duty  to 
all  his  nation  as  Jan  Chinn' s  interpreter;  and  he  de 
voutly  believed  that  forty  plagues  would  fall  on  his 
village  if  he  tampered  with  that  obligation.  Besides, 
Jan  Chinn  knew  all  things,  and  he  rode  the  Clouded 
Tiger. 

They  covered  thirty  miles  a  day  on  foot  and  pony, 
raising  the  blue  wall-like  line  of  the  Satpuras  as  swiftly 
as  might  be.  Bukta  was  very  silent. 

They  began  the  steep  climb  a  little  after  noon,  but  it 
[135] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

was  near  sunset  ere  they  reached  the  stone  platform 
clinging  to  the  side  of  a  rifted,  jungle-covered  hill,  where 
Jan  Chinn  the  First  was  laid,  as  he  had  desired,  that 
he  might  overlook  his  people.  All  India  is  full  of  neg 
lected  graves  that  date  from  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century— tombs  of  forgotten  colonels  of  corps 
long  since  disbanded;  mates  of  East  Indiamen  who 
went  on  shooting  expeditions  and  never  came  back; 
factors,  agents,  writers,  and  ensigns  of  the  Honourable 
the  East  India  Company  by  hundreds  and  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands.  English  f oik  forget  quickly,  but 
natives  have  long  memories,  and  if  a  man  has  done  good 
in  his  life  it  is  remembered  after  his  death.  The  wea 
thered  marble  four-square  tomb  of  Jan  Chinn  was  hung 
about  with  wild  flowers  and  nuts,  packets  of  wax  and 
honey,  bottles  of  native  spirits,  and  infamous  cigars, 
with  buffalo  horns  and  plumes  of  dried  grass.  At  one 
end  was  a  rude  clay  image  of  a  white  man,  in  the  old- 
fashioned  top-hat,  riding  on  a  bloated  tiger. 

Bukta  salamed  reverently  as  they  approached. 
Chinn  bared  his  head  and  began  to  pick  out  the  blurred 
inscription.  So  far  as  he  could  read  it  ran  thus— word 
for  word,  and  letter  for  letter: 

To  the  Memory  of  JOHN  CHINN,  ESQ. 

Late  Collector  of 

....  ithout  Bloodshed  or  ...  error  of  Authority 
Employ  .  only  .  .  cans  of  Conciliat .  .  .  and  Confiden  . 
accomplished  the  .  .  .  tire  Subjection  .  .  . 

a  Lawless  and  Predatory  Peop  .  .  . 
....  taching  them  to  .  .  .  .  ish  Government 
by  a  Conquest  over  ....  Minds 

[136] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

The  most  perma  .  .  .  and  rational  Mode  of  Domini  .  . 
.  .  .  Governor  General  and  Counc  .  .  .  engal 

have  ordered  thi erected 

.  .  .  arted  this  Life  Aug.  19,  184  .  .  Ag  .  .  . 

On  the  other  side  of  the  grave  were  ancient  verses, 
also  very  worn.  As  much  as  Chinn  could  decipher 
said: 

....  the  savage  band 

Forsook  their  Haunts  and  b  ....  is  Command 
....  mended  .  .  rals  check  a  ...  st  for  spoil 
And  .  s  .  ing  Hamlets  prove  his  gene  ....  toil 

Humanit .  .  .  survey ights  restore  .  . 

A  Nation  .  .  ield  .  .  subdued  without  a  Sword. 

For  some  little  time  he  leaned  on  the  tomb  thinking  of 
this  dead  man  of  his  own  blood,  and  of  the  house  in 
Devonshire;  then,  nodding  to  the  plains:  "  Yes;  it  's  a 
big  work— all  of  it— even  my  little  share.  He  must 
have  been  worth  knowing.  .  .  .  Bukta,  where  are 
my  people?" 

"  Not  here,  Sahib.  No  man  comes  here  except  in 
full  sun.  They  wait  above.  Let  us  climb  and  see." 

But  Chinn,  remembering  the  first  law  of  Oriental 
diplomacy,  in  an  even  voice  answered:  "  I  have  come 
this  far  only  because  the  Satpura  folk  are  foolish,  and 
dared  not  visit  our  lines.  Now  bid  them  wait  on  me 
here.  I  am  not  a  servant,  but  the  master  of  Bhils. ' ' 

u  I  go — I  go,"  clucked  the  old  man.  Night  was  fall 
ing,  and  at  any  moment  Jan  Chinn  might  whistle  up 
his  dreaded  steed  from  the  darkening  scrub. 

Now  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  life  Bukta  disobeyed 
a  lawful  command  and  deserted  his  leader;  for  he  did 
[137] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

not  come  back,  but  pressed  to  the  flat  table-top  of  the 
hill,  and  called  softly.  Men  stirred  all  about  him— little 
trembling  men  with  bows  and  arrows  who  had  watched 
the  two  since  noon. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  whispered  one. 

"  At  his  own  place.     He  bids  you  come,"  said  Bukta. 

"Now?" 

"Now." 

' '  Rather  let  him  loose  the  Clouded  Tiger  upon  us.  We 
do  not  go." 

"Nor  I,  though  I  bore  him  in  my  arms  when  he  was 
a  child  in  this  his  life.  Wait  here  till  the  day." 

"  But  surely  he  will  be  angry." 

"  He  will  be  very  angry,  for  he  has  nothing  to  eat. 
But  he  has  said  to  me  many  times  that  the  Bhils  are 
his  children.  By  sunlight  I  believe  this,  but— by  moon 
light  I  am  not  so  sure.  What  folly  have  ye  Satpura  pigs 
compassed  that  ye  should  need  him  at  all? " 

"  One  came  to  us  in  the  name  of  the  Government  with 
little  ghost-knives  and  a  magic  calf,  meaning  to  turn  us 
into  cattle  by  the  cutting  off  of  our  arms.  We  were 
greatly  afraid,  but  we  did  not  kill  the  man.  He  is  here, 
bound— a  black  man;  and  we  think  he  comes  from  the 
west.  He  said  it  was  an  order  to  cut  us  all  with  knives 
—especially  the  women  and  the  children.  We  did  not 
hear  that  it  was  an  order,  so  we  were  afraid,  and  kept 
to  our  hills.  Some  of  our  men  have  taken  ponies  and 
bullocks  from  the  plains,  and  others  pots  and  cloths 
and  ear-rings." 

"  Are  any  slain?" 

"  By  our  men?  Not  yet.  But  the  young  men  are 
[138] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

blown  to  and  fro  by  many  rumours  like  flames  upon  a 
hill.  I  sent  runners  asking  for  Jan  Chinn  lest  worse 
should  come  to  us.  It  was  this  fear  that  he  foretold  by 
the  sign  of  the  Clouded  Tiger." 

"He  says  it  is  otherwise,"  said  Bukta;  and  he  re 
peated,  with  amplifications,  all  that  young  Chinn  had 
told  him  at  the  conference  of  the  wicker  chair. 

"  Think  you,"  said  the  questioner,  at  last,  "  that  the 
Government  will  lay  hands  on  us? " 

"  Not  I,"  Bukta  rejoined.  "  Jan  Chinn  will  give  an 
order,  and  ye  will  obey.  The  rest  is  between  the  Govern 
ment  and  Jan  Chinn.  I  myself  know  something  of  the 
ghost-knives  and  the  scratching.  It  is  a  charm  against 
the  Smallpox.  But  how  it  is  done  I  cannot  tell.  Nor 
need  that  concern  you." 

"  If  he  stands  by  us  and  before  the  anger  of  the  Govern 
ment  we  will  most  strictly  obey  Jan  Chinn,  except— ex 
cept  we  do  not  go  down  to  that  place  to-night." 

They  could  hear  young  Chinn  below  them  shouting 
for  Bukta;  but  they  cowered  and  sat  still,  expecting  the 
Clouded  Tiger.  The  tomb  had  been  holy  ground  for 
nearly  half  a  century.  If  Jan  Chinn  chose  to  sleep 
there,  who  had  better  right?  But  they  would  not  come 
within  eyeshot  of  the  place  till  broad  day. 

At  first  Chinn  was  exceedingly  angry,  till  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Bukta  most  probably  had  a  reason  (which, 
indeed,  he  had),  and  his  own  dignity  might  suffer  if  he 
yelled  without  answer.  He  propped  himself  against 
the  foot  of  the  grave,  and,  alternately  dozing  and 
smoking,  came  through  the  warm  night  proud  that 
he  was  a  lawful,  legitimate,  fever-proof  Chinn. 
[139] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

He  prepared  his  plan  of  action  much  as  his  grandfather 
would  have  done;  and  when  Bukta  appeared  in  the 
morning  with  a  most  liberal  supply  of  food,  said  nothing 
of  the  overnight  desertion.  Bukta  would  have  been 
relieved  by  an  outburst  of  human  anger;  but  Chinn  fin 
ished  his  victual  leisurely,  and  a  cheroot,  ere  he  made 
any  sign. 

"  They  are  very  much  afraid,"  said  Bukta,  who  was 
not  too  bold  himself.  ' '  It  remains  only  to  give  orders. 
They  said  they  will  obey  if  thou  wilt  only  stand  between 
them  and  the  Government. ' ' 

"  That  I  know,"  said  Chinn,  strolling  slowly  to  the 
table-land.  A  few  of  the  elder  men  stood  in  an  irregu 
lar  semicircle  in  an  open  glade;  but  the  ruck  of  people 
—women  and  children— were  hidden  in  the  thicket. 
They  had  no  desire  to  face  the  first  anger  of  Jan  Chinn 
the  First. 

Seating  himself  on  a  fragment  of  split  rock,  he  smoked 
his  cheroot  to  the  butt,  hearing  men  breathe  hard  all 
about  him.  Then  he  cried,  so  suddenly  that  they 
jumped : 

"  Bring  the  man  that  was  bound!  " 

A  scuffle  and  a  cry  were  followed  by  the  appearance 
of  a  Hindoo  vaccinator,  quaking  with  fear,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  as  the  Bhils  of  old  were  accustomed  to  bind 
their  human  sacrifices.  He  was  pushed  cautiously  be 
fore  the  presence ;  but  young  Chinn  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  I  said— the  man  that  was  bound.  Is  it  a  jest  to 
bring  me  one  tied  like  a  buffalo?  Since  when  could  the 
Bhil  bind  folk  at  his  pleasure?  Cut!" 

Half  a  dozen  hasty  knives  cut  away  the  thongs,  and 
[140] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

the  man  crawled  to  Chinn,  who  pocketed  his  case  of 
lancets  and  tubes  of  lymph.  Then,  sweeping  the  semi 
circle  with  one  comprehensive  forefinger,  and  in  the 
voice  of  compliment,  he  said,  clearly  and  distinctly: 
"Pigs!" 

"  Ai  I"  whispered  Bukta.  "  Now  he  speaks.  Woe  to 
foolish  people ! ' ' 

"  I  have  come  on  foot  from  my  house  "  (the  assembly 
shuddered)  "  to  make  clear  a  matter  which  any  other 
than  a  Satpura  Bhil  would  have  seen  with  both  eyes 
from  a  distance.  Ye  know  the  Smallpox,  who  pits  and 
scars  your  children  so  that  they  look  like  wasp-combs. 
It  is  an  order  of  the  Government  that  whoso  is  scratched 
on  the  arm  with  these  little  knives  which  I  hold  up  is 
charmed  against  Her.  All  Sahibs  are  thus  charmed, 
and  very  many  Hindoos.  This  is  the  mark  of  the  charm. 
Look!" 

He  rolled  back  his  sleeve  to  the  armpit  and  showed 
the  white  scars  of  the  vaccination-mark  on  the  white 
skin.  "  Come,  all,  and  look." 

A  few  daring  spirits  came  up,  and  nodded  their  heads 
wisely.  There  was  certainly  a  mark,  and  they  knew 
well  what  other  dread  marks  were  hidden  by  the  shirt. 
Merciful  was  Jan  Chinn,  that  he  had  not  then  and  there 
proclaimed  his  godhead ! 

"  Now  all  these  things  the  man  whom  ye  bound  told 
you.'' 

"I  did— a  hundred  times;  but  they  answered  with 
blows,"  groaned  the  operator,  chafing  his  wrists  and 
ankles. 

"  But,  being  pigs,  ye  did  not  believe;  and  so  came  I 
[141] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

here  to  save  you,  first  from  Smallpox,  next  from  a  great 
folly  of  fear,  and  lastly,  it  may  be,  from  the  rope  and 
the  jail.  It  is  no  gain  to  me;  it  is  no  pleasure  to  me: 
but  for  the  sake  of  that  one  who  is  yonder,  who  made 
the  Bhil  a  man"— he  pointed  down  the  hill—"  I,  who 
am  of  his  blood,  the  son  of  his  son,  come  to  turn  your 
people.  And  I  speak  the  truth,  as  did  Jan  Chinn. ' ' 

The  crowd  murmured  reverently,  and  men  stole  out 
of  the  thicket  by  twos  and  threes  to  join  it.  There  was 
no  anger  in  their  God's  face. 

"  These  are  my  orders.  (Heaven  send  they  '11  take 
'em,  but  I  seem  to  have  impressed  'em  so  far!)  I  my 
self  will  stay  among  you  while  this  man  scratches  your 
arms  with  the  knives,  after  the  order  of  the  Govern 
ment.  In  three,  or  it  may  be  five  or  seven,  days,  your 
arms  will  swell  and  itch  and  burn.  That  is  the  power 
of  Smallpox  fighting  in  your  base  blood  against  the 
orders  of  the  Government.  I  will  therefore  stay  among 
you  till  I  see  that  Smallpox  is  conquered,  and  I  will  not  go 
away  till  the  men  and  the  women  and  the  little  children 
show  me  upon  their  arms  such  marks  as  I  have  even  now 
showed  you.  I  bring  with  me  two  very  good  guns,  and 
a  man  whose  name  is  known  among  beasts  and  men. 
We  will  hunt  together,  I  and  he  and  your  young  men, 
and  the  others  shall  eat  and  lie  still.  This  is  my  order. ' ' 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  victory  hung  in  the 
balance.  A  white-haired  old  sinner,  standing  on  one 
uneasy  leg,  piped  up: 

"  There  are  ponies  and  some  few  bullocks  and  other 
things  for  which  we  need  a  Jcowl  [protection].     They 
were  not  taken  in  the  way  of  trade." 
[142] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

The  battle  was  won,  and  John  Chinn  drew  a  breath  of 
relief.  The  young  Bhils  had  been  raiding,  but  if  taken 
swiftly  all  could  be  put  straight. 

* '  I  will  write  a  howl  so  soon  as  the  ponies,  the  bullocks, 
and  the  other  things  are  counted  before  me  and  sent 
back  whence  they  came.  But  first  we  will  put  the 
Government  mark  on  such  as  have  not  been  visited  by 
Smallpox."  In  an  undertone,  to  the  vaccinator:  "If 
you  show  you  are  afraid  you  '11  never  see  Poona  again, 
my  friend." 

' '  There  is  not  sufficient  ample  supply  of  vaccine  for 
all  this  population,"  said  the  man.  "They  have  de 
stroyed  the  oifeecial  calf." 

"They  won't  know  the  difference.  Scrape  'em  all 
round,  and  give  me  a  couple  of  lancets;  I  '11  attend  to 
the  elders." 

The  aged  diplomat  who  had  demanded  protection  was 
the  first  victim.  He  fell  to  Chinn' s  hand,  and  dared  not 
cry  out.  As  soon  as  he  was  freed  he  dragged  up  a  com 
panion,  and  held  him  fast,  and  the  crisis  became,  as  it 
were,  a  child's  sport;  for  the  vaccinated  chased  the  un- 
vaccinated  to  treatment,  vowing  that  all  the  tribe  must 
suffer  equally.  The  women  shrieked,  and  the  children 
ran  howling;  but  Chinn  laughed,  and  waved  the  pink- 
tipped  lancet. 

"  It  is  an  honour, ' '  he  cried.  * '  Tell  them,  Bukta,  how 
great  an  honour  it  is  that  I  myself  should  mark  them. 
Nay,  I  cannot  mark  every  one— the  Hindoo  must  also  do 
his  work— but  I  will  touch  all  marks  that  he  makes,  so 
there  will  be  an  equal  virtue  in  them.  Thus  do  the 
Rajputs  stick  pigs.  Ho,  brother  with  one  eye !  Catch 
[143] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

that  girl  and  bring  her  to  me.  She  need  not  run  away 
yet,  for  she  is  not  married,  and  I  do  not  seek  her  in 
marriage.  She  will  not  come?  Then  she  shall  be 
shamed  by  her  little  brother,  a  fat  boy,  a  bold  boy. 
He  puts  out  his  arm  like  a  soldier.  Look !  He  does  not 
flinch  at  the  blood.  Some  day  he  shall  be  in  my  regi 
ment.  And  now,  mother  of  many,  we  will  lightly 
touch  thee,  for  Smallpox  has  been  before  us  here.  It  is 
a  true  thing,  indeed,  that  this  charm  breaks  the  power  of 
Mata.  There  will  be  no  more  pitted  faces  among  the 
Satpuras,  and  so  ye  can  ask  many  cows  for  each  maid 
to  be  wed." 

And  so  on  and  so  on— quick-poured  showman's  patter, 
sauced  in  the  Bhil  hunting-proverbs  and  tales  of  their 
own  brand  of  coarse  humour— till  the  lancets  were 
blunted  and  both  operators  worn  out. 

But,  nature  being  the  same  the  world  over,  the  un- 
vaccinated  grew  jealous  of  their  marked  comrades,  and 
came  near  to  blows  about  it.  Then  Chinn  declared  him 
self  a  court  of  justice,  no  longer  a  medical  board,  and 
made  formal  inquiry  into  the  late  robberies. 

"We  are  the  thieves  of  Mahadeo,"  said  the  Bhils, 
simply.  "It  is  our  fate,  and  we  were  frightened. 
When  we  are  frightened  we  always  steal." 

Simply  and  directly  as  children,  they  gave  in  the  tale 
of  the  plunder,  all  but  two  bullocks  and  some  spirits  that 
had  gone  amissing  (these  Chinn  promised  to  make  good 
out  of  his  own  pocket),  and  ten  ringleaders  were 
despatched  to  the  lowlands  with  a  wonderful  document, 
written  on  the  leaf  of  a  note-book,  and  addressed  to  an 
Assistant  District  Superintendent  of  Police.  There  was 
[144] 


Drawn  by  £.  L.  Blumenschein. 


One  climbed  into  a  tree,  and  stuck  the  letter  into  a  cleft  forty  feet 
from  the  ground." 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

warm  calamity  in  that  note,  as  Jan  Chinn  warned  them, 
but  anything  was  better  than  loss  of  liberty. 

Armed  with  this  protection,  the  repentant  raiders 
went  downhill.  They  had  no  desire  whatever  to  meet 
Mr.  Dundas  Fawne  of  the  Police,  aged  twenty-two,  and 
of  a  cheerful  countenance,  nor  did  they  wish  to  revisit 
the  scene  of  their  robberies.  Steering  a  middle  course, 
they  ran  into  the  camp  of  the  one  Government  chaplain 
allowed  to  the  various  irregular  corps  through  a  district 
of  some  fifteen  thousand  square  miles,  and  stood  before 
him  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  was  by  way  of  being  a  priest, 
they  knew,  and,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  a  good 
sportsman  who  paid  his  beaters  generously. 

When  he  read  Chinn 's  note  he  laughed,  which  they 
deemed  a  lucky  omen,  till  he  called  up  policemen,  who 
tethered  the  ponies  and  the  bullocks  by  the  piled  house- 
gear,  and  laid  stern  hands  upon  three  of  that  smiling 
band  of  the  thieves  of  Mahadeo.  The  chaplain  himself 
addressed  them  magisterially  with  a  riding- whip.  That 
was  painful,  but  Jan  Chinn  had  prophesied  it.  They 
submitted,  but  would  not  give  up  the  written  protection, 
fearing  the  jail.  On  their  way  back  they  met  Mr.  D. 
Fawne,  who  had  heard  about  the  robberies,  and  was  not 


"  Certainly,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  gang,  when  the 
second  interview  was  at  an  end,  "  certainly  Jan  Chinn's 
protection  has  saved  us  our  liberty,  but  it  is  as  though 
there  were  many  beatings  in  one  small  piece  of  paper. 
Put  it  away." 

One  climbed  into  a  tree,  and  stuck  the  letter  into  a 
cleft  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  where  it  could  do  no 
[145] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

harm.  Warmed,  sore,  but  happy,  the  ten  returned  to 
Jan  Chinn  next  day,  where  he  sat  among  uneasy  Bhils, 
all  looking  at  their  right  arms,  and  all  bound  under 
terror  of  their  God's  disfavour  not  to  scratch. 

"  It  was  a  good  Jcoivl,"  said  the  leader.  "  First  the 
chaplain,  who  laughed,  took  away  our  plunder,  and 
beat  three  of  us,  as  was  promised.  Next,  we  meet 
Fawne  Sahib,  who  frowned,  and  asked  for  the  plunder. 
We  spoke  the  truth,  and  so  he  beat  us  all,  one  after  an 
other,  and  called  us  chosen  names.  He  then  gave  us 
these  two  bundles ' '  —they  set  down  a  bottle  of  whisky 
and  a  box  of  cheroots—"  and  we  came  away.  The  Jcowl 
is  left  in  a  tree,  because  its  virtue  is  that  so  soon  as  we 
show  it  to  a  Sahib  we  are  beaten." 

"But  for  that  fcowZ,"  said  Jan  Chinn,  sternly,  "ye 
would  all  have  been  marching  to  jail  with  a  policeman 
on  either  side.  Ye  come  now  to  serve  as  beaters  for 
me.  These  people  are  unhappy,  and  we  will  go  hunting 
till  they  are  well.  To-night  we  will  make  a  feast." 

It  is  written  in  the  chronicles  of  the  Satpura  Bhils,  to 
gether  with  many  other  matters  not  fit  for  print,  that 
through  five  days,  after  the  day  that  he  had  put  his 
mark  upon  them,  Jan  Chinn  the  First  hunted  for  his 
people;  and  on  the  five  nights  of  those  days  *;he  tribe 
was  gloriously  and  entirely  drunk.  Jan  Chinn  bought 
country  spirits  of  an  awful  strength,  and  slew  wild  pig 
and  deer  beyond  counting,  so  that  if  any  fell  sick  they 
might  have  two  good  reasons. 

Between  head-  and  stomach-aches  they  found  no  time 
to  think  of  their  arms,  but  followed  Jan  Chinn  obedi 
ently  through  the  jungles,  and  with  each  day's  return- 
[146] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

ing  confidence  men,  women,  and  children  stole  away  to 
their  villages  as  the  little  army  passed  by.  They  car 
ried  news  that  it  was  good  and  right  to  be  scratched 
with  ghost-knives;  that  Jan  Chinn  was  indeed  reincar 
nated  as  a  god  of  free  food  and  drink,  and  that  of  all 
nations  the  Satpura  Bhils  stood  first  in  his  favour,  if  they 
would  only  refrain  from  scratching.  Henceforward 
that  kindly  demi-god  would  be  connected  in  their 
minds  with  great  gorgings  and  the  vaccine  and  lancets 
of  a  paternal  Government. 

' '  And  to-morrow  I  go  back  to  my  home, ' '  said  Jan 
Chinn  to  his  faithful  few,  whom  neither  spirits,  over 
eating,  nor  swollen  glands  could  conquer.  It  is  hard  for 
children  and  savages  to  behave  reverently  at  all  times 
to  the  idols  of  their  make-belief,  and  they  had  frolicked 
excessively  with  Jan  Chinn.  But  the  reference  to  his 
home  cast  a  gloom  on  the  people. 

"  And  the  Sahib  will  not  come  again? "  said  he  who 
had  been  vaccinated  first. 

"  That  is  to  be  seen,"  answered  Chinn,  warily. 

"  Nay,  but  come  as  a  white  man— come  as  a  young 
man  whom  we  know  and  love;  for,  as  thou  alone 
knowest,  we  are  a  weak  people.  If  we  again  saw  thy 
—thy  horse—"  They  were  picking  up  their  courage. 

"  I  have  no  horse.  I  came  on  foot— with  Bukta,  yon 
der.  What  is  this?" 

"  Thou  knowest— the  thing  that  thou  hast  chosen  for 
a  night-horse."  The  little  men  squirmed  in  fear  and 
awe. 

"  Night-horses?  Bukta,  what  is  this  last  tale  of 
children?" 

[147] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

Bukta  had  been  a  silent  leader  in  Chinn's  presence 
since  the  night  of  his  desertion,  and  was  grateful  for  a 
chance-flung  question. 

"They  know,  Sahib,"  he  whispered.  "It  is  the 
Clouded  Tiger.  That  that  comes  from  the  place  where 
thou  didst  once  sleep.  It  is  thy  horse— as  it  has  been 
these  three  generations." 

"  My  horse!    That  was  a  dream  of  the  Bhils." 

"  It  is  no  dream.  Do  dreams  leave  the  tracks  of  broad 
pugs  on  earth?  Why  make  two  faces  before  thy  people? 
They  know  of  the  night-ridings,  and  they— and  they—" 

"  Are  afraid,  and  would  have  them  cease." 

Bukta  nodded.  ' '  If  thou  hast  no  further  need  of  him. 
He  is  thy  horse." 

"  The  thing  leaves  a  trail,  then?  "  said  Chinn. 

* '  We  have  seen  it.  It  is  like  a  village  road  under  the 
tomb." 

"  Can  ye  find  and  follow  it  for  me? " 

"  By  daylight— if  one  comes  with  us,  and,  above  all, 
stands  near  by." 

"  I  will  stand  close,  and  we  will  see  to  it  that  Jan 
Chinn  does  not  ride  any  more." 

The  Bhils  shouted  the  last  words  again  and  again. 

From  Chinn's  point  of  view  the  stalk  was  nothing 
more  than  an  ordinary  one— down  hill,  through  split 
and  crannied  rocks,  unsafe,  perhaps,  if  a  man  did  not 
keep  his  wits  by  him,  but  no  worse  than  twenty  others 
he  had  undertaken.  Yet  his  men— they  refused  abso 
lutely  to  beat,  and  would  only  trail— dripped  sweat  at 
every  move.  They  showed  the  marks  of  enormous 
pugs  that  ran,  always  down  hill,  to  a  few  hundred  feet 
[148] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

below  Jan  Chinn's  tomb,  and  disappeared  in  a  narrow- 
mouthed  cave.  It  was  an  insolently  open  road,  a 
domestic  highway,  beaten  without  thought  of  con 
cealment. 

"  The  beggar  might  be  paying  rent  and  taxes,"  Chinn 
muttered  ere  he  asked  whether  his  friend's  taste  ran  to 
cattle  or  man. 

"Cattle,"  was  the  answer.  "Two  heifers  a  week. 
We  drive  them  for  him  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It  is  his 
custom.  If  we  did  not,  he  might  seek  us." 

' '  Blackmail  and  piracy, ' '  said  Chinn.  ' '  I  can't  say  I 
fancy  going  into  the  cave  after  him.  What  's  to  be 
done?" 

The  Bhils  fell  back  as  Chinn  lodged  himself  behind  a 
rock  with  his  rifle  ready.  Tigers,  he  knew,  were  shy 
beasts,  but  one  who  had  been  long  cattle-fed  in  this 
sumptuous  style  might  prove  overbold. 

"He  speaks!"  some  one  whispered  from  the  rear. 
"He  knows,  too." 

* '  Well,  of  all  the  infernal  cheek ! ' '  said  Chinn.  There 
was  an  angry  growl  from  the  cave— a  direct  challenge. 

"Come  out,  then,"  Chinn  shouted.  "Come  out  of 
that.  Let  's  have  a  look  at  you." 

The  brute  knew  well  enough  that  there  was  some 
connection  between  brown  nude  Bhils  and  his  weekly 
allowance ;  but  the  white  helmet  hi  the  sunlight  annoyed 
him,  and  he  did  not  approve  of  the  voice  that  broke  his 
rest.  Lazily  as  a  gorged  snake,  he  dragged  himself  out 
of  the  cave,  and  stood  yawning  and  blinking  at  the  en 
trance.  The  sunlight  fell  upon  his  flat  right  side,  and 
Chinn  wondered.  Never  had  he  seen  a  tiger  marked 
[149] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

after  this  fashion.  Except  for  his  head,  which  was  star- 
ingly  barred,  he  was  dappled— not  striped,  but  dappled 
like  a  child's  rocking-horse  in  rich  shades  of  smoky 
black  on  red  gold.  That  portion  of  his  belly  and  throat 
which  should  have  been  white  was  orange,  and  his  tail 
and  paws  were  black. 

He  looked  leisurely  for  some  ten  seconds,  and  then 
deliberately  lowered  his  head,  his  chin  dropped  and 
drawn  in,  staring  intently  at  the  man.  The  effect  of 
this  was  to  throw  forward  the  round  arch  of  his  skull, 
with  two  broad  bands  across  it,  while  below  the  bands 
glared  the  unwinking  eyes;  so  that,  head  on,  as  he  stood, 
he  showed  something  like  a  diabolically  scowling  pan- 
tomine-mask.  It  was  a  piece  of  natural  mesmerism 
that  he  had  practised  many  times  on  his  quarry,  and 
though  Chinn  was  by  no  means  a  terrified  heifer,  he 
stood  for  a  while,  held  by  the  extraordinary  oddity  of 
the  attack.  The  head— the  body  seemed  to  have  been 
packed  away  behind  it— the  ferocious,  skull-like  head, 
crept  nearer  to  the  switching  of  an  angry  tail-tip  in  the 
grass.  Left  and  right  the  Bhils  had  scattered  to  let 
John  Chinn  subdue  his  own  horse. 

"  My  word!  "  he  thought.  "  He  's  trying  to  frighten 
me!"  and  fired  between  the  saucer-like  eyes,  leaping 
aside  upon  the  shot. 

A  big  coughing  mass,  reeking  of  carrion,  bounded  past 
him  up  the  hill,  and  he  followed  discreetly.  The  tiger 
made  no  attempt  to  turn  into  the  jungle;  he  was  hunt 
ing  for  sight  and  breath— nose  up,  mouth  open,  the 
tremendous  fore-legs  scattering  the  gravel  in  spurts. 

"  Scuppered!  "  said  John  Chinn,  watching  the  flight. 
[150] 


THE    TOMB    OP    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"  Now  if  he  was  a  partridge  he  'd  tower.  Lungs  must 
be  full  of  blood." 

The  brute  had  jerked  himself  over  a  boulder  and 
fallen  out  of  sight  the  other  side.  John  Chinn  looked 
over  with  a  ready  barrel.  But  the  red  trail  led  straight 
as  an  arrow  even  to  his  grandfather's  tomb,  and  there, 
among  the  smashed  spirit-bottles  and  the  fragments  of 
the  mud  image,  the  life  left,  with  a  flurry  and  a  grunt. 

"  If  my  worthy  ancestor  could  see  that,"  said  John 
Chinn,  "he  'd  have  been  proud  of  me.  Eyes,  lower 
jaw,  and  lungs.  A  very  nice  shot."  He  whistled  for 
Bukta  as  he  drew  the  tape  over  the  stiffening  bulk. 

"  Ten— six— eight— by  Jove!  It  's  nearly  eleven— 
call  it  eleven.  Fore-arm,  twenty-four— five— seven  and 
a  half.  A  short  tail,  too :  three  feet  one.  But  what  a 
skin!  Oh,  Bukta!  Bukta!  The  men  with  the  knives 
swiftly." 

"  Is  he  beyond  question  dead? "  said  an  awe-stricken 
voice  behind  a  rock. 

"  That  was  not  the  way  I  killed  my  first  tiger,"  said 
Chinn.  ' '  I  did  not  think  that  Bukta  would  run.  I  had 
no  second  gun." 

"  It— it  is  the  Clouded  Tiger,"  said  Bukta,  unheeding 
the  taunt.  "  He  is  dead. ' ' 

Whether  all  the  Bhils,  vaccinated  and  unvaccinated, 
of  the  Satpuras  had  lain  by  to  see  the  kill,  Chinn  could 
not  say;  but  the  whole  hill's  flank  rustled  with  little 
men,  shouting,  singing,  and  stamping.  And  yet,  till  he 
had  made  the  first  cut  in  the  splendid  skin,  not  a  man 
would  take  a  knife ;  and,  when  the  shadows  fell,  they 
ran  from  the  red-stained  tomb,  and  no  persuasion  would 
[151] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

bring  them  back  till  dawn.  So  Chirm  spent  a  second 
night  in  the  open,  guarding  the  carcass  from  jackals, 
and  thinking  about  his  ancestor. 

He  returned  to  the  lowlands  to  the  triumphal  chant 
of  an  escorting  army  three  hundred  strong,  the  Mah- 
ratta  vaccinator  close  at  his  elbow,  and  the  rudely  dried 
skin  a  trophy  before  him.  When  that  army  suddenly 
and  noiselessly  disappeared,  as  quail  in  high  corn,  he 
argued  he  was  near  civilisation,  and  a  turn  in  the  road 
brought  him  upon  the  camp  of  a  wing  of  his  own  corps. 
He  left  the  skin  on  a  cart-tail  for  the  world  to  see,  and 
sought  the  Colonel. 

"They  're  perfectly  right,"  he  explained  earnestly. 
"  There  is  n't  an  ounce  of  vice  in  'em.  They  were  only 
frightened.  I  've  vaccinated  the  whole  boiling,  and 
they  like  it  awfully.  What  are— what  are  we  doing 
here,  sir?" 

"That  's  what  I  'm  trying  to  find  out,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  I  don't  know  yet  whether  we  're  a  piece  of 
a  brigade  or  a  police  force.  However,  I  think  we  '11 
call  ourselves  a  police  force.  How  did  you  manage  to 
get  a  Bhil  vaccinated? " 

14  Well,  sir,"  said  Chinn,  "  I  've  been  thinking  it  over, 
and,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  I  've  got  a  sort  of 
hereditary  influence  over  'em." 

u  So  I  know,  or  I  would  n't  have  sent  you;  but  what, 
exactly?" 

"It  's  rather  rummy.    It  seems,  from  what  I  can 

make  out,  that  I  'm  my  own  grandfather  reincarnated, 

and  I  've  been  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  country  by 

riding  a  pad-tiger  of  nights.    If  I  had  n't  done  that,  I 

[152] 


THE    TOMB    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

don't  think  they  'd  have  objected  to  the  vaccination ;  but 
the  two  together  were  more  than  they  could  stand. 
And  so,  sir,  I  've  vaccinated  'em,  and  shot  my  tiger- 
horse  as  a  sort  o'  proof  of  good  faith.  You  never  saw 
such  a  skin  in  your  life." 

The  Colonel  tugged  his  moustache  thoughtfully. 
"Now,  how  the  deuce,"  said  he,  "am  I  to  include 
that  in  my  report? " 

Indeed,  the  official  version  of  the  Bhils'  anti- vac 
cination  stampede  said  nothing  about  Lieutenant 
John  Chinn,  his  godship.  But  Bukta  knew,  and  the 
corps  knew,  and  every  Bhil  in  the  Satpura  hills  knew. 

And  now  Bukta  is  zealous  that  John  Chinn  shall 
swiftly  be  wedded  and  impart  his  powers  to  a  son; 
for  if  the  Chinn  succession  fails,  and  the  little  Bhils 
are  left  to  their  own  imaginings,  there  will  be  fresh 
trouble  in  the  Satpuras. 


[153] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 


THE   DEVIL   AND   THE  DEEP   SEA 

All  supplies  very  bad  and  dear,  and  there  are  no  facilities 
for  even  the  smallest  repairs.  —  SAILING  DIRECTIONS. 

HER  nationality  was  British,  but  you  will  not  find 
her  house-flag  in  the  list  of  our  mercantile 
marine.  She  was  a  nine-hundred  ton,  iron,  schooner- 
rigged,  screw  cargo-boat,  differing  externally  in  no  way 
from  any  other  tramp  of  the  sea.  But  it  is  with  steam 
ers  as  it  is  with  men.  There  are  those  who  will  for  a 
consideration  sail  extremely  close  to  the  wind;  and,  in 
the  present  state  of  a  fallen  world,  such  people  and 
such  steamers  have  their  use.  From  the  hour  that  the 
Aglaia  first  entered  the  Clyde— new,  shiny,  and  inno 
cent,  with  a  quart  of  cheap  champagne  trickling  down 
her  cutwater— Fate  and  her  owner,  who  was  also  her 
captain,  decreed  that  she  should  deal  with  embarrassed 
crowned  heads,  fleeing  Presidents,  financiers  of  over 
extended  ability,  women  to  whom  change  of  air  was 
imperative,  and  the  lesser  law-breaking  Powers.  Her 
career  led  her  sometimes  into  the  Admiralty  Courts, 
where  the  sworn  statements  of  her  skipper  filled  his 
brethren  with  envy.  The  mariner  cannot  tell  or  act  a 
[157] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

lie  in  the  face  of  the  sea,  or  mislead  a  tempest ;  but,  as 
lawyers  have  discovered,  he  makes  up  for  chances 
withheld  when  he  returns  to  shore,  an  affidavit  in 
either  hand. 

The  Aglaia  figured  with  distinction  in  the  great 
Mackinaw  salvage-case.  It  was  her  first  slip  from  vir 
tue,  and  she  learned  how  to  change  her  name,  but  not 
her  heart,  and  to  run  across  the  sea.  As  the  Guiding 
Light  she  was  very  badly  wanted  in  a  South  American 
port  for  the  little  matter  of  entering  harbour  at  full 
speed,  colliding  with  a  coal-hulk  and  the  State's  only 
man-of-war,  just  as  that  man-of-war  was  going  to  coal. 
She  put  to  sea  without  explanations,  though  three  forts 
fired  at  her  for  half  an  hour.  As  the  Julia  McGregor 
she  had  been  concerned  in  picking  up  from  a  raft  cer 
tain  gentlemen  who  should  have  stayed  in  Noumea,  but 
who  preferred  making  themselves  vastly  unpleasant  to 
authority  in  quite  another  quarter  of  the  world ;  and  as 
the  Shah-in-Shah  she  had  been  overtaken  on  the  high 
seas,  indecently  full  of  munitions  of  war,  by  the  cruiser 
of  an  agitated  Power  at  issue  with  its  neighbour.  That 
time  she  was  very  nearly  sunk,  and  her  riddled  hull 
gave  eminent  lawyers  of  two  countries  great  profit. 
After  a  season  she  reappeared  as  the  Martin  Hunt, 
painted  a  dull  slate  colour,  with  pure  saffron  funnel, 
and  boats  of  robin's-egg  blue,  engaging  in  the  Odessa 
trade  till  she  was  invited  (and  the  invitation  could  not 
well  be  disregarded)  to  keep  away  from  Black  Sea 
ports  altogether. 

She  had  ridden  through  many  waves  of  depression. 
Freights  might  drop  out  of  sight,  Seamen's  Unions 
[158] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

throw  spanners  and  nuts  at  certificated  masters,  or 
stevedores  combine  till  cargo  perished  on  the  dock- 
head;  but  the  boat  of  many  names  came  and  went, 
busy,  alert,  and  inconspicuous  always.  Her  skipper 
made  no  complaint  of  hard  times,  and  port  officers  ob 
served  that  her  crew  signed  and  signed  again  with  the 
regularity  of  Atlantic  liner  boatswains.  Her  name 
she  changed  as  occasion  called;  her  well-paid  crew 
never;  and  a  large  percentage  of  the  profits  of  her  voy 
ages  was  spent  with  an  open  hand  on  her  engine-room. 
She  never  troubled  the  underwriters,  and  very  seldom 
stopped  to  talk  with  a  signal-station,  for  her  business 
was  urgent  and  private. 

But  an  end  came  to  her  tradings,  and  she  perished  in 
this  manner.  Deep  peace  brooded  over  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  America,  Australasia,  and  Polynesia.  The 
Powers  dealt  together  more  or  less  honestly;  banks 
paid  their  depositors  to  the  hour;  diamonds  of  price 
came  safely  to  the  hands  of  their  owners;  Republics 
rested  content  with  their  Dictators;  diplomats  found 
no  one  whose  presence  in  the  least  incommoded  them; 
monarchs  lived  openly  with  their  lawfully  wedded 
wives.  It  was  as  though  the  whole  earth  had  put  on 
its  best  Sunday  bib  and  tucker;  and  business  was  very 
bad  for  the  Martin  Hunt.  The  great,  virtuous  calm 
engulfed  her,  slate  sides,  yellow  funnel,  and  all,  but 
cast  up  in  another  hemisphere  the  steam  whaler  Hali- 
otis,  black  and  rusty,  with  a  manure -coloured  funnel, 
a  litter  of  dingy  white  boats,  and  an  enormous  stove, 
or  furnace,  for  boiling  blubber  on  her  forward  well- 
deck.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  her  trip  was  sue- 
[159] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

cessful,  for  she  lay  at  several  ports  not  too  well 
known,  and  the  smoke  of  her  trying-out  insulted  the 
beaches. 

Anon  she  departed,  at  the  speed  of  the  average 
London  four-wheeler,  and  entered  a  semi-inland  sea, 
warm,  still,  and  blue,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
strictly  preserved  water  in  the  world.  There  she  stayed 
for  a  certain  time,  and  the  great  stars  of  those  mild  skies 
beheld  her  playing  puss-in-the-corner  among  islands 
where  whales  are  never  found.  All  that  while  she 
smelt  abominably,  and  the  smell,  though  fishy,  was  not 
whalesome.  One  evening  calamity  descended  upon  her 
from  the  island  of  Pygang-Watai,  and  she  fled,  while  her 
crew  jeered  at  a  fat  black-and-brown  gunboat  puffing 
far  behind.  They  knew  to  the  last  revolution  the  capa 
city  of  every  boat,  on  those  seas,  that  they  were  anxious 
to  avoid.  A  British  ship  with  a  good  conscience  does 
not,  ac  a  rule,  flee  from  the  man-of-war  of  a  foreign 
Power,  and  it  is  also  considered  a  breach  of  etiquette  to 
stop  and  search  British  ships  at  sea.  These  things  the 
skipper  of  the  Haliotis  did  not  pause  to  prove,  but  held 
on  at  an  inspiriting  eleven  knots  an  hour  till  nightfall. 
One  thing  only  he  overlooked. 

The  Power  that  kept  an  expensive  steam-patrol  mov 
ing  up  and  down  those  waters  (they  had  dodged  the  two 
regular  ships  of  the  station  with  an  ease  that  bred  con 
tempt)  had  newly  brought  up  a  third  and  a  fourteen- 
knot  boat  with  a  clean  bottom  to  help  the  work;  and 
that  was  why  the  Haliotis,  driving  hard  from  the  east 
to  the  west,  found  herself  at  daylight  in  such  a  position 
that  she  could  not  help  seeing  an  arrangement  of  four 
[160] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

flags,  a  mile  and  a-half  behind,  which  read:  "  Heave  to, 
or  take  the  consequences!  " 

She  had  her  choice,  and  she  took  it.  The  end  came 
when,  presuming  on  her  lighter  draught,  she  tried  to 
draw  away  northward  over  a  friendly  shoal.  The  shell 
that  arrived  by  way  of  the  Chief  Engineer's  cabin  was 
some  five  inches  in  diameter,  with  a  practice,  not  a 
bursting,  charge.  It  had  been  intended  to  cross  her 
bows,  and  that  was  why  it  knocked  the  framed  por 
trait  of  the  Chief  Engineer's  wife— and  she  was  a  very 
pretty  girl— on  to  the  floor,  splintered  his  wash-hand 
stand,  crossed  the  alleyway  into  the  engine-room,  and 
striking  on  a  grating,  dropped  directly  in  front  of  the 
forward  engine,  where  it  burst,  neatly  fracturing  both 
the  bolts  that  held  the  connecting-rod  to  the  forward 
crank. 

What  follows  is  worth  consideration.  The  forward 
engine  had  no  more  work  to  do.  Its  released  piston-rod, 
therefore,  drove  up  fiercely,  with  nothing  to  check  it, 
and  started  most  of  the  nuts  of  the  cylinder-cover.  It 
came  down  again,  the  full  weight  of  the  steam  behind 
it,  and  the  foot  of  the  disconnected  connecting-rod, 
useless  as  the  leg  of  a  man  with  a  sprained  ankle, 
flung  out  to  the  right  and  struck  the  starboard,  or 
right-hand,  cast-iron  supporting-column  of  the  forward 
engine,  cracking  it  clean  through  about  six  inches 
above  the  base,  and  wedging  the  upper  portion  out 
wards  three  inches  towards  the  ship's  side.  There  the 
connecting-rod  jammed  Meantime,  the  after-engine, 
being  as  yet  unembarrassed,  went  on  with  its  work, 
and  in  so  doing  brought  round  at  its  next  revolution 
[161] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

the  crank  of  the  forward  engine,  which  smote  the  al 
ready  jammed  connecting-rod,  bending  it  and  there 
with  the  piston-rod  cross-head— the  big  cross-piece  that 
slides  up  and  down  so  smoothly. 

The  cross-head  jammed  sideways  in  the  guides,  and, 
in  addition  to  putting  further  pressure  on  the  already 
broken  starboard  supporting-column,  cracked  the  port, 
or  left-hand,  supporting-column  in  two  or  three  places. 
There  being  nothing  more  that  could  be  made  to  move, 
the  engines  brought  up,  all  standing,  with  a  hiccup 
that  seemed  to  lift  the  Haliotis  a  foot  out  of  the  water; 
and  the  engine-room  staff,  opening  every  steam  outlet 
that  they  could  find  in  the  confusion,  arrived  on  deck 
somewhat  scalded,  but  calm.  There  was  a  sound  below 
of  things  happening— a  rushing,  clicking,  purring, 
grunting,  rattling  noise  that  did  not  last  for  more  than 
a  minute.  It  was  the  machinery  adjusting  itself,  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  to  a  hundred  altered  conditions. 
Mr.  Wardrop,  one  foot  on  the  upper  grating,  inclined 
his  ear  sideways,  and  groaned.  You  cannot  stop  en 
gines  working  at  twelve  knots  an  hour  in  three  seconds 
without  disorganising  them.  The  Haliotis  slid  forward 
in  a  cloud  of  steam,  shrieking  like  a  wounded  horse. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  do.  The  five-inch  shell 
with  a  reduced  charge  had  settled  the  situation.  And 
when  you  are  full,  all  three  holds,  of  strictly  preserved 
pearls;  when  you  have  cleaned  out  the  Tanna  Bank, 
the  Sea-Horse  Bank,  and  four  other  banks  from  one  end 
to  the  other  of  the  Amanala  Sea— when  you  have  ripped 
out  the  very  heart  of  a  rich  Government  monopoly  so 
that  five  years  will  not  repair  your  wrong-doings— you 
[162] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

must  smile  and  take  what  is  in  store.  But  the  skipper 
reflected,  as  a  launch  put  out  from  the  man-of-war, 
that  he  had  been  bombarded  on  the  high  seas,  with 
the  British  flag— several  of  them— picturesquely  dis 
posed  above  him,  and  tried  to  find  comfort  from  the 
thought. 

"Where,"  said  the  stolid  naval  lieutenant  hoisting 
himself  aboard,  "  where  are  those  dam'  pearls? " 

They  were  there  beyond  evasion.  No  affidavit  could 
do  away  with  the  fearful  smell  of  decayed  oysters,  the 
diving-dresses,  and  the  shell-littered  hatches.  They 
were  there  to  the  value  of  seventy  thousand  pounds, 
more  or  less ;  and  every  pound  poached. 

The  man-of-war  was  annoyed;  for  she  had  used  up 
many  tons  of  coal,  she  had  strained  her  tubes,  and, 
worse  than  all,  her  officers  and  crew  had  been  hurried. 
Every  one  on  the  Haliotis  was  arrested  and  rearrested 
several  times,  as  each  officer  came  aboard;  then  they 
were  told  by  what  they  esteemed  to  be  the  equivalent 
of:  a  midshipman  that  they  were  to  consider  themselves 
prisoners,  and  finally  were  put  under  arrest. 

"It  's  not  the  least  good,"  said  the  skipper,  suavely. 
"  You  'd  much  better  send  us  a  tow—" 

"  Be  still— you  are  arrest!  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Where  the  devil  do  you  expect  we  are  going  to 
escape  to?  We  're  helpless.  You  've  got  to  tow  us  into 
somewhere,  and  explain  why  you  fired  on  us.  Mr. 
Wardrop,  we  're  helpless,  are  n't  we? " 

"  Euined  from  end  to  end,"  said  the  man  of  machi 
nery.  "  If  she  rolls,  the  forward  cylinder  will  come 
down  and  go  through  her  bottom.  Both  columns  are 
[163] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

clean  cut  through.  There  's  nothing  to  hold  any 
thing  up." 

The  council  of  war  clanked  off  to  see  if  Mr.  Wardrop' s 
words  were  true.  He  warned  them  that  it  was  as  much 
as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  enter  the  engine-room,  and 
they  contented  themselves  with  a  distant  inspection 
through  the  thinning  steam.  The  Haliotis  lifted  to  the 
long,  easy  swell,  and  the  starboard  supporting-column 
ground  a  trifle,  as  a  man  grits  his  teeth  under  the  knife. 
The  forward  cylinder  was  depending  on  that  unknown 
force  men  call  the  pertinacity  of  materials,  which  now 
and  then  balances  that  other  heartbreaking  power,  the 
perversity  of  inanimate  things. 

"  You  see!  "  said  Mr.  Wardrop,  hurrying  them  away, 
"The  engines  are  n't  worth  their  price  as  old  iron." 

"  We  tow,"  was  the  answer.  "  Afterwards  we  shall 
confiscate. ' ' 

The  man-of-war  was  short-handed,  and  did  not  see 
the  necessity  for  putting  a  prize-crew  aboard  the 
Haliotis.  So  she  sent  one  sublieutenant,  whom  the 
skipper  kept  very  drunk,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  make 
the  tow  too  easy,  and,  moreover,  he  had  an  inconspicu 
ous  little  rope  hanging  from  the  stern  of  his  ship. 

Then  they  began  to  tow  at  an  average  speed  of  four 
knots  an  hour.  The  Haliotis  was  very  hard  to  move, 
and  the  gunnery-lieutenant,  who  had  fired  the  five-inch 
shell,  had  leisure  to  think  upon  consequences.  Mr. 
Wardrop  was  the  busy  man.  He  borrowed  all  the  crew 
to  shore  up  the  cylinders  with  spars  and  blocks  from 
the  bottom  and  sides  of  the  ship.  It  was  a  day's  risky 
work;  but  anything  was  better  than  drowning  at  the 
[164] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

end  of  a  tow-rope;  and  if  the  forward  cylinder  had 
fallen,  it  would  have  made  its  way  to  the  sea-bed,  and 
taken  the  Haliotis  after. 

"  Where  are  we  going  to,  and  how  long  will  they  tow 
us? "  he  asked  of  the  skipper. 

"God  knows!  and  this  prize  lieutenant  's  drunk. 
What  do  you  think  you  can  do?" 

"  There  's  just  the  bare  chance,"  Mr.  Wardrop  whis 
pered,  though  no  one  was  within  hearing— "  there  's 
just  the  bare  chance  o'  repairin'  her,  if  a  man  knew 
how.  They  've  twisted  the  very  guts  out  of  her, 
bringing  her  up  with  that  jerk;  but  I  'm  saying  that, 
with  time  and  patience,  there  's  just  the  chance  o' 
making  steam  yet.  We  could  do  it. " 

The  skipper's  eye  brightened.  "  Do  you  mean,"  he 
began,  "  that  she  is  any  good? " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mr.  Wardrop.  "She  '11  need  three 
thousand  pounds  in  repairs,  at  the  lowest,  if  she  's  to 
take  the  sea  again,  an'  that  apart  from  any  injury  to 
her  structure.  She  's  like  a  man  fallen  down  five  pair 
o'  stairs.  We  can't  tell  for  months  what  has  happened ; 
but  we  know  she  '11  never  be  good  again  without  a  new 
inside.  Ye  should  see  the  condenser-tubes  an'  the 
steam  connections  to  the  donkey,  for  two  things  only. 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  them  repairin'  her.  I  'm  afraid  of 
them  stealin'  things." 

"They  've  fired  on  us.  They'll  have  to  explain 
that." 

"  Our  reputation  's  not  good  enough  to  ask  for  ex 
planations.  Let  's  take  what  we  have  and  be  thankful. 
Ye  would  not  have  consuls  rememberuV  the  Guidin- 
[165] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

Light  an'  the  Shah-in-Shah,  and  the  Aglaia,  at  this 
most  alarmin'  crisis.  We  've  been  no  better  than 
pirates  these  ten  years.  Under  Providence  we  're  no 
worse  than  thieves  now.  We  've  much  to  be  thankful 
for— if  we  e'er  get  back  to  her." 

' '  Make  it  your  own  way,  then, ' '  said  the  skipper.  * '  If 
there  's  the  least  chance — " 

"  I  '11  leave  none,"  said  Mr.  Wardrop— u  none  that 
they  '11  dare  to  take.  Keep  her  heavy  on  the  tow,  for 
we  need  time." 

The  skipper  never  interfered  with  the  affairs  of  the 
engine-room,  and  Mr.  Wardrop— an  artist  in  his  profes 
sion—turned  to  and  composed  a  work  terrible  and  for 
bidding.  His  background  was  the  dark-grained  sides 
of  the  engine-room;  his  material  the  metals  of  power 
and  strength,  helped  out  with  spars,  baulks,  and  ropes. 
The  man-of-war  towed  sullenly  and  viciously.  The 
Haliotis  behind  her  hummed  like  a  hive  before  swarm 
ing.  With  extra  and  totally  unneeded  spars  her  crew 
blocked  up  the  space  round  the  forward  engine  till  it 
resembled  a  statue  in  its  scaffolding,  and  the  butts  of 
the  shores  interfered  with  every  view  that  a  dispassion 
ate  eye  might  wish  to  take.  And  that  the  dispassionate 
mind  might  be  swiftly  shaken  out  of  its  calm,  the  well- 
sunk  bolts  of  the  shores  were  wrapped  round  untidily 
with  loose  ends  of  ropes,  giving  a  studied  effect  of  most 
dangerous  insecurity.  Next,  Mr.  Wardrop  took  up  a 
collection  from  the  after  engine,  which,  as  you  will 
remember,  had  not  been  affected  in  the  general  wreck. 
The  cylinder  escape-valve  he  abolished  with  a  flogging- 
hammer.  It  is  difficult  in  far-off  ports  to  come  by  such 
[166] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

valves,  unless,  like  Mr.  Wardrop,  you  keep  duplicates  in 
store.  At  the  same  time  men  took  off  the  nuts  of  two 
of  the  great  holding-down  bolts  that  serve  to  keep  the 
engines  in  place  on  their  solid  bed.  An  engine  violently 
arrested  in  mid-career  may  easily  jerk  off  the  nut  of 
a  holding-down  bolt,  and  this  accident  looked  very 
natural. 

Passing  along  the  tunnel,  he  removed  several  shaft 
coupling-bolts  and  -nuts,  scattering  other  and  ancient 
pieces  of  iron  underfoot.  Cylinder-bolts  he  cut  off  to 
the  number  of  six  from  the  after  engine  cylinder,  so 
that  it  might  match  its  neighbour,  and  stuffed  the  bilge- 
and  feed-pumps  with  cotton- waste.  Then  he  made  up 
a  neat  bundle  of  the  various  odds  and  ends  that  he  had 
gathered  from  the  engines— little  things  like  nuts  and 
valve-spindles,  all  carefully  tallowed— and  retired  with 
them  under  the  floor  of  the  engine-room,  where  he 
sighed,  being  fat,  as  he  passed  from  manhole  to  man 
hole  of  the  double  bottom,  and  in  a  fairly  dry  submarine 
compartment  hid  them.  Any  engineer,  particularly  in 
an  unfriendly  port,  has  a  right  to  keep  his  spare  stores 
where  he  chooses;  and  the  foot  of  one  of  the  cylinder 
shores  blocked  all  entrance  into  the  regular  store-room, 
even  if  that  had  not  been  already  closed  with  steel 
wedges.  In  conclusion,  he  disconnected  the  after 
engine,  laid  piston  and  connecting-rod,  carefully  tal 
lowed,  where  it  would  be  most  inconvenient  to  the 
casual  visitor,  took  out  three  of  the  eight  collars  of  the 
thrust-block,  hid  them  where  only  he  could  find  them 
again,  filled  the  boilers  by  hand,  wedged  the  sliding 
doors  of  the  coal-bunkers,  and  rested  from  his  labours. 
[167] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

The  engine-room  was  a  cemetery,  and  it  did  not  need 
the  contents  of  the  ash-lift  through  the  skylight  to 
make  it  any  worse. 

He  invited  the  skipper  to  look  at  the  completed  work. 

"  Saw  ye  ever  such  a  forsaken  wreck  as  that?  "  said 
he  proudly.  "  It  almost  frights  me  to  go  under  those 
shores.  Now,  what  d'  you  think  they  '11  do  to  us? " 

"  Wait  till  we  see,"  said  the  skipper.  "  It  '11  be  bad 
enough  when  it  comes. ' ' 

He  was  not  wrong.  The  pleasant  days  of  towing 
ended  all  too  soon,  though  the  Haliotis  trailed  behind 
her  a  heavily  weighted  jib  stayed  out  into  the  shape  of 
a  pocket ;  and  Mr.  Wardrop  was  no  longer  an  artist  of 
imagination,  but  one  of  seven-and-twenty  prisoners  in  a 
prison  full  of  insects.  The  man-of-war  had  towed  them 
to  the  nearest  port,  not  to  the  headquarters  of  the 
colony,  and  when  Mr.  Wardrop  saw  the  dismal  little 
harbour,  with  its  ragged  line  of  Chinese  junks,  its  one 
crazy  tug,  and  the  boat-building  shed  that,  under  the 
charge  of  a  philosophical  Malay,  represented  a  dock 
yard,  he  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  did  well,"  he  said.  "This  is  the  habitation  o' 
wreckers  an'  thieves.  We  're  at  the  uttermost  ends  of 
the  earth.  Think  you  they  '11  ever  know  in  England?  " 

"Does  n't  look  like  it,"  said  the  skipper. 

They  were  marched  ashore  with  what  they  stood  up 
in,  under  a  generous  escort,  and  were  judged  accord 
ing  to  the  customs  of  the  country,  which,  though  excel 
lent,  are  a  little  out  of  date.  There  were  the  pearls; 
there  were  the  poachers;  and  there  sat  a  small  but  hot 
Governor.  He  consulted  for  a  while,  and  then  things 
[168] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

began  to  move  with  speed,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  keep 
a  hungry  crew  at  large  on  the  beach,  and  the  man-of- 
war  had  gone  up  the  coast.  With  a  wave  of  his  hand— 
a  stroke  of  the  pen  was  not  necessary— he  consigned 
them  to  the  blakgang-tana,  the  back-country,  and  the 
hand  of  the  Law  removed  them  from  his  sight  and  the 
knowledge  of  men.  They  were  marched  into  the  palms, 
and  the  back-country  swallowed  them  up— all  the  crew 
of  the  Haliotis. 

Deep  peace  continued  to  brood  over  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  America,  Australasia,  and  Polynesia. 

********** 

It  was  the  firing  that  did  it.  They  should  have  kept 
their  council;  but  when  a  few  thousand  foreigners  are 
bursting  with  joy  over  the  fact  that  a  ship  under  the 
British  flag  has  been  fired  at  on  the  high  seas,  news 
travels  quickly ;  and  when  it  came  out  that  the  pearl- 
stealing  crew  had  not  been  allowed  access  to  their  con 
sul  (there  was  no  consul  within  a  few  hundred  miles  of 
that  lonely  port)  even  the  friendliest  of  Powers  has  a 
right  to  ask  questions.  The  great  heart  of  the  British 
public  was  beating  furiously  on  account  of  the  perform 
ance  of  a  notorious  race-horse,  and  had  not  a  throb  to 
waste  on  distant  accidents;  but  somewhere  deep  in  the 
hull  of  the  ship  of  State  there  is  machinery  which  more 
or  less  accurately  takes  charge  of  foreign  affairs.  That 
machinery  began  to  revolve,  and  who  so  shocked  and 
surprised  as  the  Power  that  had  captured  the  Haliotis  f 
It  explained  that  colonial  governors  and  far-away  men- 
of-war  were  difficult  to  control,  and  promised  that  it 
would  most  certainly  make  an  example  both  of  the 
[169] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

Governor  and  the  vessel.  As  for  the  crew  reported  to 
be  pressed  into  military  service  in  tropical  climes,  it 
would  produce  them  as  soon  as  possible,  and  it  would 
apologise,  if  necessary.  Now,  no  apologies  were 
needed.  When  one  nation  apologises  to  another, 
millions  of  amateurs  who  have  no  earthly  concern 
with  the  difficulty  hurl  themselves  into  the  strife  and 
embarrass  the  trained  specialist.  It  was  requested 
that  the  crew  be  found,  if  they  were  still  alive— they 
had  been  eight  months  beyond  knowledge— and  it  was 
promised  that  all  would  be  forgotten. 

The  little  Governor  of  the  little  port  was  pleased 
with  himself.  Seven-and-twenty  white  men  made  a 
very  compact  force  to  throw  away  on  a  war  that  had 
neither  beginning  nor  end— a  jungle-and-stockade  fight 
that  flickered  and  smouldered  through  the  wet  hot 
years  in  the  hills  a  hundred  miles  away,  and  was  the 
heritage  of  every  wearied  official.  He  had,  he  thought, 
deserved  well  of  his  country;  and  if  only  some  one 
would  buy  the  unhappy  Haliotis,  moored  in  the  har 
bour  below  his  verandah,  his  cup  would  be  full.  He 
looked  at  the  neatly  silvered  lamps  that  he  had  taken 
from  her  cabins,  and  thought  of  much  that  might  be 
turned  to  account.  But  his  countrymen  in  that  moist 
climate  had  no  spirit.  They  would  peep  into  the  silent 
engine-room,  and  shake  their  heads.  Even  the  men-of- 
war  would  not  tow  her  further  up  the  coast,  where  the 
Governor  believed  that  she  could  be  repaired.  She  was 
a  bad  bargain;  but  her  cabin  carpets  were  undeniably 
beautiful,  and  his  wife  approved  of  her  mirrors. 

Three  hours  later  cables  were  bursting  round  him  like 
[170] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

shells,  for,  though  he  knew  it  not,  he  was  being  offered 
as  a  sacrifice  by  the  nether  to  the  upper  millstone,  and 
his  superiors  had  no  regard  for  his  feelings.  He  had, 
said  the  cables,  grossly  exceeded  his  power,  and  failed 
to  report  on  events.  He  would,  therefore— at  this  he 
cast  himself  back  in  his  hammock— produce  the  crew 
of  the  Haliotis.  He  would  send  for  them,  and,  if  that 
failed,  he  would  put  his  dignity  on  a  pony  and  fetch 
them  himself.  He  had  no  conceivable  right  to  make 
pearl-poachers  serve  in  any  war.  He  would  be  held 
responsible. 

Next  morning  the  cables  wished  to  know  whether  he 
had  found  the  crew  of  the  Haliotis.  They  were  to  be 
found,  freed  and  fed— he  was  to  feed  them— till  such 
time  as  they  could  be  sent  to  the  nearest  English  port 
in  a  man-of-war.  If  you  abuse  a  man  long  enough  in 
great  words  flashed  over  the  sea-beds,  things  happen. 
The  Governor  sent  inland  swiftly  for  his  prisoners,  who 
were  also  soldiers;  and  never  was  a  militia  regiment 
more  anxious  to  reduce  its  strength.  No  power  short 
of  death  could  make  these  mad  men  wear  the  uniform 
of  their  service.  They  would  not  fight,  except  with 
their  fellows,  and  it  was  for  that  reason  the  regiment 
had  not  gone  to  war,  but  stayed  in  a  stockade,  reason 
ing  with  the  new  troops.  The  autumn  campaign  had 
been  a  fiasco,  but  here  were  the  Englishmen.  All  the 
regiment  marched  back  to  guard  them,  and  the  hairy 
enemy,  armed  with  blow-pipes,  rejoiced  hi  the  forest. 
Five  of  the  crew  had  died,  but  there  lined  up  on  the 
Governor's  verandah  two-and-twenty  men  marked 
about  the  legs  with  the  scars  of  leech-bites.  A  few  of 
[171] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

them  wore  fringes  that  had  once  been  trousers;  the 
others  used  loin-cloths  of  gay  patterns;  and  they  ex 
isted  beautifully  but  simply  in  the  Governor's  veran 
dah,  and  when  he  came  out  they  sang  at  him.  When 
you  have  lost  seventy  thousand  pounds'  worth  of 
pearls,  your  pay,  your  ship,  and  all  your  clothes,  and 
have  lived  in  bondage  for  five  months  beyond  the 
faintest  pretences  of  civilisation,  you  know  what  true 
independence  means,  for  you  become  the  happiest  of 
created  things— natural  man. 

The  Governor  told  the  crew  that  they  were  evil,  and 
they  asked  for  food.  When  he  saw  how  they  ate,  and 
when  he  remembered  that  none  of  the  pearl  patrol- 
boats  were  expected  for  two  months,  he  sighed.  But 
the  crew  of  the  Haliotis  lay  down  in  the  verandah,  and 
said  that  they  were  pensioners  of  the  Governor's  bounty. 
A  grey-bearded  man,  fat  and  bald-headed,  his  one  gar 
ment  a  green-and-yellow  loin-cloth,  saw  the  Haliotis  in 
the  harbour,  and  bellowed  for  joy.  The  men  crowded 
to  the  verandah-rail,  kicking  aside  the  long  cane  chairs. 
They  pointed,  gesticulated,  and  argued  freely,  without 
shame.  The  militia  regiment  sat  down  in  the  Gover 
nor's  garden.  The  Governor  retired  to  his  hammock- 
it  was  as  easy  to  be  killed  lying  as  standing— and  his 
women  squeaked  from  the  shuttered  rooms. 

"  She  sold?  "  said  the  grey-bearded  man,  pointing  to 
the  Haliotis.  He  was  Mr.  Wardrop. 

"  No  good,"  said  the  Governor,  shaking  his  head. 
"No  one  come  buy." 

"He  's  taken  my  lamps,  though,"  said  the  skipper 
He  wore  one  leg  of  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  his  eye  wan- 
[172] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

dered  along  the  verandah.  The  Governor  quailed. 
There  were  cuddy  camp-stools  and  the  skipper's  writ 
ing-table  in  plain  sight. 

"  They  've  cleaned  her  out,  o'  course,"  said  Mr.  War- 
drop.  "  They  would.  We  '11  go  aboard  and  take  an 
inventory.  See!  "  He  waved  his  hands  over  the  har 
bour.  "We— live— there— now.  Sorry?" 

The  Governor  smiled  a  smile  of  relief. 

"He  's  glad  of  that,"  said  one  of  the  crew,  reflec 
tively.  "  I  should  n't  wonder." 

They  flocked  down  to  the  harbour-front,  the  militia 
regiment  clattering  behind,  and  embarked  themselves 
in  what  they  found— it  happened  to  be  the  Governor's 
boat.  Then  they  disappeared  over  the  bulwarks  of  the 
Haliotis,  and  the  Governor  prayed  that  they  might  find 
occupation  inside. 

Mr.  Wardrop's  first  bound  took  him  to  the  engine- 
room;  and  when  the  others  were  patting  the  well- 
remembered  decks,  they  heard  him  giving  God  thanks 
that  things  were  as  he  had  left  them.  The  wrecked 
engines  stood  over  his  head  untouched;  no  inexpert 
hand  had  meddled  with  his  shores ;  the  steel  wedges  of 
the  store-room  were  rusted  home;  and,  best  of  all,  the 
hundred  and  sixty  tons  of  good  Australian  coal  in  the 
bunkers  had  not  diminished. 

u  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Mr.  Wardrop.  "  Any 
Malay  knows  the  use  o'  copper.  They  ought  to  have 
cut  away  the  pipes.  And  with  Chinese  junks  coming 
here,  too.  It  's  a  special  interposition  o'  Provi 
dence." 

"You  think  so,"  said  the  skipper,  from  above. 
[173] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

"  There  's  only  been  one  thief  here,  and  he  's  cleaned 
her  out  of  all  my  things,  anyhow." 

Here  the  skipper  spoke  less  than  the  truth,  for  under 
the  planking  of  his  cabin,  only  to  be  reached  by  a  chisel, 
lay  a  little  money  which  never  drew  any  interest— his 
sheet-anchor  to  windward.  It  was  all  in  clean  sover 
eigns  that  pass  current  the  world  over,  and  might  have 
amounted  to  more  than  a  hundred  pounds. 

"He  's  left  me  alone.  Let  's  thank  God,"  repeated 
Mr.  Wardrop. 

u  He  's  taken  everything  else;  look!  " 

The  Haliotis,  except  as  to  her  engine-room,  had  been 
systematically  and  scientifically  gutted  from  one  end  to 
the  other,  and  there  was  strong  evidence  that  an  un 
clean  guard  had  camped  in  the  skipper's  cabin  to  regu 
late  that  plunder.  She  lacked  glass,  plate,  crockery, 
cutlery,  mattresses,  cuddy  carpets  and  chairs,  all  boats, 
and  her  copper  ventilators.  These  things  had  been 
removed,  with  her  sails  and  as  much  of  the  wire  rig 
ging  as  would  not  imperil  the  safety  of  the  masts. 

"  He  must  have  sold  those,"  said  the  skipper.  "  The 
other  things  are  in  his  house,  I  suppose." 

Every  fitting  that  could  be  pried  or  screwed  out  was 
gone.  Port,  starboard,  and  masthead  lights ;  teak  grat 
ings;  sliding  sashes  of  the  deck-house;  the  captain's 
chest  of  drawers,  with  charts  and  chart- table;  photo 
graphs,  brackets,  and  looking-glasses;  cabin  doors; 
rubber  cuddy  mats;  hatch-irons;  half  the  funnel-stays; 
cork  fenders;  carpenter's  grindstone  and  tool-chest; 
holystones,  swabs,  squeegees;  all  cabin  and  pantry 
lamps;  galley-fittings  en  bloc;  flags  and  flag-locker; 
[174] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

clocks,  chronometers;  the  forward  compass  and  the 
ship's  bell  and  belfry,  were  among  the  missing. 

There  were  great  scarred  marks  on  the  deck-plank 
ing  over  which  the  cargo-derricks  had  been  hauled. 
One  must  have  fallen  by  the  way,  for  the  bulwark-rails 
were  smashed  and  bent  and  the  side-plates  bruised. 

"It  's  the  Governor,"  said  the  skipper.  "He  's 
been  selling  her  on  the  instalment  plan." 

"  Let 's  go  up  with  spanners  and  shovels,  and  kill  'em 
all,"  shouted  the  crew.  "  Let  's  drown  him,  and  keep 
the  woman ! ' ' 

"Then  we  '11  be  shot  by  that  black-and-tan  regiment 
— our  regiment.  What  's  the  trouble  ashore?  They  've 
camped  our  regiment  on  the  beach." 

"  We  're  cut  off,  that  's  all.  Go  and  see  what  they 
want,"  said  Mr.  Wardrop.  "  You  've  the  trousers." 

In  his  simple  way  the  Governor  was  a  strategist. 
He  did  not  desire  that  the  crew  of  the  Haliotis  should 
come  ashore  again,  either  singly  or  in  detachments, 
and  he  proposed  to  turn  their  steamer  into  a  convict- 
hulk.  They  would  wait— he  explained  this  from  the 
quay  to  the  skipper  in  the  barge— and  they  would  con 
tinue  to  wait  till  the  man-of-war  came  along,  exactly 
where  they  were.  If  one  of  them  set  foot  ashore,  the 
entire  regiment  would  open  fire,  and  he  would  not 
scruple  to  use  the  two  cannon  of  the  town.  Meantime 
food  would  be  sent  daily  in  a  boat  under  an  armed 
escort.  The  skipper,  bare  to  the  waist,  and  rowing, 
could  only  grind  his  teeth ;  and  the  Governor  improved 
the  occasion,  and  revenged  himself  for  the  bitter  words 
in  the  cables,  by  saying  what  he  thought  of  the  morals 
[175] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

and  manners  of  the  crew.  The  barge  returned  to  the 
Haliotis  in  silence,  and  the  skipper  climbed  aboard, 
white  on  the  cheek-bones  and  blue  about  the  nostrils. 

*' I  knew  it,"  said  Mr.  "Wardrop;  "and  they  won't 
give  us  good  food,  either.  We  shall  have  bananas 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  an'  a  man  can't  work  on 
fruit.  We  know  that." 

Then  the  skipper  cursed  Mr.  Wardrop  for  importing 
frivolous  side-issues  into  the  conversation ;  and  the  crew 
cursed  one  another,  and  the  Haliotis,  the  voyage,  and 
all  that  they  knew  or  could  bring  to  mind.  They  sat 
down  in  silence  on  the  empty  decks,  and  their  eyes 
burned  in  their  heads.  The  green  harbour  water 
chuckled  at  them  overside.  They  looked  at  the  palm- 
fringed  hills  inland,  at  the  white  houses  above  the 
harbour  road,  at  the  single  tier  of  native  craft  by  the 
quay,  at  the  stolid  soldiery  sitting  round  the  two  can 
non,  and,  last  of  all,  at  the  blue  bar  of  the  horizon.  Mr. 
Wardrop  was  buried  in  thought,  and  scratched  imaginary 
lines  with  his  untrimmed  finger-nails  on  the  planking. 

"  I  make  no  promise,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  for  I  can't 
say  what  may  or  may  not  have  happened  to  them.  But 
here  's  the  ship,  and  here  's  us." 

There  was  a  little  scornful  laughter  at  this,  and  Mr. 
Wardrop  knitted  his  brows.  He  recalled  that  in  the 
days  when  he  wore  trousers  he  had  been  chief  engineer 
of  the  Haliotis. 

"  Harland,  Mackesy,  Noble,  Hay,  Naughton,  Fink, 
O'Hara,  Trumbull." 

"Here,  sir!"  The   instinct  of  obedience  waked  to 
answer  the  roll-call  of  the  engine-room. 
[176] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

"Below!" 

They  rose  and  went. 

"  Captain,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  the  rest  of  the  men  as 
I  want  them.  We  '11  get  my  stores  out,  and  clear  away 
the  shores  we  don't  need,  and  then  we  '11  patch  her  up. 
My  men  will  remember  that  they  're  in  the  Haliotis^ 
— under  me." 

He  went  into  the  engine-room,  and  the  others  stared. 
They  were  used  to  the  accidents  of  the  sea,  but  this 
was  beyond  their  experience.  None  who  had  seen  the 
engine-room  believed  that  anything  short  of  new  engines 
from  end  to  end  could  stir  the  Haliotis  from  her  moorings. 

The  engine-room  stores  were  unearthed,  and  Mr. 
Wardrop's  face,  red  with  the  filth  of  the  bilges  and  the 
exertion  of  travelling  on  his  stomach,  lit  with  joy. 
The  spare  gear  of  the  Haliotis  had  been  unusually  com 
plete,  and  two-and-twenty  men,  armed  with  screw- 
jacks,  differential  blocks,  tackle,  vices,  and  a  forge  or 
so,  can  look  Kismet  between  the  eyes  without  wink 
ing.  The  crew  were  ordered  to  replace  the  holding- 
down  and  shaft-bearing  bolts,  and  return  the  collars  of 
the  thrust-block.  When  they  had  finished,  Mr.  Wardrop 
delivered  a  lecture  on  repairing  compound  engines 
without  the  aid  of  the  shops,  and  the  men  sat  about  on 
the  cold  machinery.  The  cross-head  jammed  in  the 
guides  leered  at  them  drunkenly,  but  offered  no  help. 
They  ran  their  fingers  hopelessly  into  the  cracks  of  the 
starboard  supporting-column,  and  picked  at  the  ends  of 
the  ropes  round  the  shores,  while  Mr.  Wardrop's  voice 
rose  and  fell  echoing,  till  the  quick  tropic  night  closed 
down  over  the  engine-room  skylight. 

[177] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

Next  morning  the  work  of  reconstruction  began. 

It  has  been  explained  that  the  foot  of  the  connecting- 
rod  was  forced  against  the  foot  of  the  starboard  sup 
porting-column,  which  it  had  cracked  through  and 
driven  outward  towards  the  ship's  skin.  To  all  appear 
ance  the  job  was  more  than  hopeless,  for  rod  and 
column  seemed  to  have  been  welded  into  one.  But 
herein  Providence  smiled  on  them  for  one  moment  to 
hearten  them  through  the  weary  weeks  ahead.  The 
second  engineer— more  reckless  than  resourceful— 
struck  at  random  with  a  cold  chisel  into  the  cast-iron  of 
the  column,  and  a  greasy,  grey  flake  of  metal  flew  from 
under  the  imprisoned  foot  of  the  connecting-rod,  while 
the  rod  itself  fell  away  slowly,  and  brought  up  with  a 
thunderous  clang  somewhere  in  the  dark  of  the  crank- 
pit.  The  guides-plates  above  were  still  jammed  fast  in 
the  guides,  but  the  first  blow  had  been  struck.  They 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  grooming  the  donkey-engine, 
which  stood  immediately  forward  of  the  engine-room 
hatch.  Its  tarpaulin,  of  course,  had  been  stolen,  and 
eight  warm  months  had  not  improved  the  working 
parts.  Further,  the  last  dying  hiccup  of  the  Haliotis 
seemed— or  it  might  have  been  the  Malay  from  the 
boat-house—to  have  lifted  the  thing  bodily  on  its  bolts, 
and  set  it  down  inaccurately  as  regarded  its  steam 
connections. 

"  If  we  only  had  one  single  cargo-derrick!"  Mr. 
Wardrop  sighed.  "  We  can  take  the  cylinder-cover  off 
by  hand,  if  we  sweat;  but  to  get  the  rod  out  o'  the  pis 
ton  's  not  possible  unless  we  use  steam.  Well,  there  '11 
be  steam  the  morn,  if  there 's  nothing  else.  She  '11  fizzle ! 
[178] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

Next  morning  men  from  the  shore  saw  the  Haliotis 
through  a  cloud,  for  it  was  as  though  the  deck  smoked. 
Her  crew  were  chasing  steam  through  the  shaken  and 
leaky  pipes  to  its  work  in  the  forward  donkey-engine ; 
and  where  oakum  failed  to  plug  a  crack,  they  stripped 
off  their  loin-cloths  for  lapping,  and  swore,  half-boiled 
and  mother-naked.  The  donkey-engine  worked— at  a 
price— the  price  of  constant  attention  and  furious  stok 
ing—worked  long  enough  to  allow  a  wire  rope  (it  was 
made  up  of  a  funnel  and  a  foremast-stay)  to  be  led  into 
the  engine-room  and  made  fast  on  the  cylinder-cover  of 
the  forward  engine.  That  rose  easily  enough,  and  was 
hauled  through  the  skylight  and  on  to  the  deck,  many 
hands  assisting  the  doubtful  steam.  Then  came  the 
tug  of  war,  for  it  was  necessary  to  get  to  the  piston  and 
the  jammed  piston-rod.  They  removed  two  of  the  pis 
ton  junk-ring  studs,  screwed  in  two  strong  iron  eye- 
bolts  by  way  of  handles,  doubled  the  wire  rope,  and  set 
half  a  dozen  men  to  smite  with  an  extemporised  batter 
ing-ram  at  the  end  of  the  piston-rod,  where  it  peered 
through  the  piston,  while  the  donkey-engine  hauled 
upwards  on  the  piston  itself.  After  four  hours  of  this 
furious  work,  the  piston-rod  suddenly  slipped,  and  the 
piston  rose  with  a  jerk,  knocking  one  or  two  men  over 
into  the  engine-room.  But  when  Mr.  Wardrop  declared 
that  the  piston  had  not  split,  they  cheered,  and  thought 
nothing  of  their  wounds;  and  the  donkey-engine  was 
hastily  stopped ;  its  boiler  was  no  thing  to  tamper  with. 

And  day  by  day  their  supplies  reached  them  by  boat. 
The  skipper  humbled  himself  once  more  before  the 
Governor,  and  as  a  concession  had  leave  to  get  drink- 
[179] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

ing  water  from  the  Malay  boat-builder  on  the  quay.  It 
was  not  good  drinking  water,  but  the  Malay  was  anx 
ious  to  supply  anything  in  his  power,  if  he  were  paid 
for  it. 

Now  when  the  jaws  of  the  forward  engine  stood,  as 
it  were,  stripped  and  empty,  they  began  to  wedge  up 
the  shores  of  the  cylinder  itself.  That  work  alone  filled 
the  better  part  of  three  days— warm  and  sticky  days, 
when  the  hands  slipped  and  sweat  ran  into  the  eyes. 
When  the  last  wedge  was  hammered  home  there  was 
no  longer  an  ounce  of  weight  on  the  supporting-col 
umns  ;  and  Mr.  Wardrop  rummaged  the  ship  for  boiler 
plate  three-quarters  of  an  inch  thick,  where  he  could 
find  it.  There  was  not  much  available,  but  what  there 
was  was  more  than  beaten  gold  to  him.  In  one  des 
perate  forenoon  the  entire  crew,  naked  and  lean,  haled 
back,  more  or  less  into  place,  the  starboard  supporting- 
column,  which,  as  you  remember,  was  cracked  clean 
through.  Mr.  Wardrop  found  them  asleep  where  they 
had  finished  the  work,  and  gave  them  a  day's  rest, 
smiling  upon  them  as  a  father  while  he  drew  chalk- 
marks  about  the  cracks.  They  woke  to  new  and  more 
trying  labour ;  for  over  each  one  of  those  cracks  a  plate 
of  three-quarter-inch  boiler-iron  was  to  be  worked  hot, 
the  rivet-holes  being  drilled  by  hand.  All  that  time 
they  were  fed  on  fruits,  chiefly  bananas,  with  some 
sago. 

Those  were  the  days  when  men  swooned  over  the 

ratchet-drill  and  the  hand-forge,  and  where  they  fell 

they  had  leave  to  lie  unless  their  bodies  were  in  the  way 

of  their  fellows'  feet.    And  so,  patch  upon  patch,  and  a 

[180] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

patch  over  all,  the  starboard  supporting-column  was 
clouted;  but  when  they  thought  all  was  secure,  Mr. 
Wardrop  decreed  that  the  noble  patchwork  would  never 
support  working  engines;  at  the  best,  it  could  only 
hold  the  guide-bars  approximately  true.  The  dead 
weight  of  the  cylinders  must  be  borne  by  vertical  struts ; 
and,  therefore,  a  gang  would  repair  to  the  bows,  and 
take  out,  with  files,  the  big  bow-anchor  davits,  each  of 
which  was  some  three  inches  in  diameter.  They  threw 
hot  coals  at  Wardrop,  and  threatened  to  kill  him,  those 
who  did  not  weep  (they  were  ready  to  weep  on  the  least 
provocation) ;  but  he  hit  them  with  iron  bars  heated  at 
the  end,  and  they  limped  forward,  and  the  davits  came 
with  them  when  they  returned.  They  slept  sixteen 
hours  on  the  strength  of  it,  and  in  three  days  two 
struts  were  in  place,  bolted  from  the  foot  of  the  star 
board  supporting- column  to  the  under  side  of  the 
cylinder.  There  remained  now  the  port,  or  condenser- 
column,  which,  though  not  so  badly  cracked  as  its  fel 
low,  had  also  been  strengthened  in  four  places  with 
boiler-plate  patches,  but  needed  struts.  They  took 
away  the  main  stanchions  of  the  bridge  for  that  work, 
and,  crazy  with  toil,  did  not  see  till  all  was  in  place 
that  the  rounded  bars  of  iron  must  be  flattened  from 
top  to  bottom  to  allow  the  air-pump  levers  to  clear  them. 
It  was  Wardrop 's  oversight,  and  he  wept  bitterly  before 
the  men  as  he  gave  the  order  to  unbolt  the  struts  and 
flatten  them  with  hammer  and  the  flame.  Now  the 
broken  engine  was  underpinned  firmly,  and  they  took 
away  the  wooden  shores  from  under  the  cylinders,  and 
gave  them  to  the  robbed  bridge,  thanking  God  for  even 
[181] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

half  a  day's  work  on  gentle,  kindly  wood  instead  of  the 
iron  that  had  entered  into  their  souls.  Eight  months 
in  the  back-country  among  the  leeches,  at  a  tempera 
ture  of  84°  moist,  is  very  bad  for  the  nerves. 

They  had  kept  the  hardest  work  to  the  last,  as  boys 
save  Latin  prose,  and,  worn  though  they  were,  Mr. 
Wardrop  did  not  dare  to  give  them  rest.  The  piston- 
rod  and  connecting-rod  were  to  be  straightened,  and 
this  was  a  job  for  a  regular  dockyard  with  every  appli 
ance.  They  fell  to  it,  cheered  by  a  little  chalk  showing 
of  work  done  and  time  consumed  which  Mr.  Wardrop 
wrote  up  on  the  engine-room  bulkhead.  Fifteen  days 
had  gone— fifteen  days  of  killing  labour— and  there 
was  hope  before  them. 

It  is  curious  that  no  man  knows  how  the  rods  were 
straightened.  The  crew  of  the  Haliotis  remember  that 
week  very  dimly,  as  a  fever  patient  remembers  the 
delirium  of  a  long  night.  There  were  fires  everywhere, 
they  say;  the  whole  ship  was  one  consuming  furnace, 
and  the  hammers  were  never  still.  Now,  there  could 
not  have  been  more  than  one  fire  at  the  most,  for  Mr. 
Wardrop  distinctly  recalls  that  no  straightening  was 
done  except  under  his  own  eye.  They  remember,  too, 
that  for  many  years  voices  gave  orders  which  they 
obeyed  with  their  bodies,  but  their  minds  were  abroad 
on  all  the  seas.  It  seems  to  them  that  they  stood 
through  days  and  nights  slowly  sliding  a  bar  backwards 
and  forwards  through  a  white  glow  that  was  part  of 
the  ship.  They  remember  an  intolerable  noise  in  their 
burning  heads  from  the  walls  of  the  stoke-hole,  and  they 
remember  being  savagely  beaten  by  men  whose  eyes 
[182] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

seemed  asleep.  When  their  shift  was  over  they  would 
draw  straight  lines  in  the  air,  anxiously  and  repeatedly, 
and  would  question  one  another  in  their  sleep,  crying, 
"  Is  she  straight?  " 

At  last— they  do  not  remember  whether  this  was  by 
day  or  by  night— Mr.  Wardrop  began  to  dance  clumsily, 
and  wept  the  while ;  and  they  too  danced  and  wept,  and 
went  to  sleep  twitching  all  over;  and  when  they  woke, 
men  said  that  the  rods  were  straightened,  and  no  one 
did  any  work  for  two  days,  but  lay  on  the  decks  and 
ate  fruit.  Mr.  Wardrop  would  go  below  from  time  to 
time,  and  pat  the  two  rods  where  they  lay,  and  they 
heard  him  singing  hymns. 

Then  his  trouble  of  mind  went  from  him,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  third  day's  idleness  he  made  a  drawing  in 
chalk  upon  the  deck,  with  letters  of  the  alphabet  at  the 
angles.  He  pointed  out  that,  though  the  piston-rod 
was  more  or  less  straight,  the  piston-rod  cross-head— 
the  thing  that  had  been  jammed  sideways  in  the  guides 
—had  been  badly  strained,  and  had  cracked  the  lower 
end  of  the  piston-rod.  He  was  going  to  forge  and  shrink 
a  wrought-iron  collar  on  the  neck  of  the  piston-rod 
where  it  joined  the  cross-head,  and  from  the  collar  he 
would  bolt  a  Y-shaped  piece  of  iron  whose  lower  arms 
should  be  bolted  into  the  cross-head.  If  anything  more 
were  needed,  they  could  use  up  the  last  of  the  boiler 
plate. 

So  the  forges  were  lit  again,  and  men  burned  their 

bodies,  but  hardly  felt  the  pain.  The  finished  connection 

was  not  beautiful,  but  it  seemed  strong  enough— at 

least,  as  strong  as  the  rest  of  the  machinery;  and  with 

[183] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

that  job  their  labours  came  to  an  end .  All  that  remained 
was  to  connect  up  the  engines,  and  to  get  food  and 
water.  The  skipper  and  four  men  dealt  with  the  Malay 
boat-builder—by  night  chiefly;  it  was  no  time  to  hag 
gle  over  the  price  of  sago  and  dried  fish.  The  others 
stayed  aboard  and  replaced  piston,  piston-rod,  cylinder- 
cover,  cross-head,  and  bolts,  with  the  aid  of  the  faithful 
donkey-engine.  The  cylinder-cover  was  hardly  steam- 
proof,  and  the  eye  of  science  might  have  seen  in  the 
connecting-rod  a  flexure  something  like  that  of  a 
Christmas-tree  candle  which  has  melted  and  been 
straightened  by  hand  over  a  stove,  but,  as  Mr.  Wardrop 
said,  "  She  did  n't  hit  anything." 

As  soon  as  the  last  bolt  was  in  place,  men  tumbled 
over  one  another  in  their  anxiety  to  get  to  the  hand 
starting-gear,  the  wheel  and  worm,  by  which  some 
engines  can  be  moved  when  there  is  no  steam  aboard. 
They  nearly  wrenched  off  the  wheel,  but  it  was  evident 
to  the  blindest  eye  that  the  engines  stirred.  They  did 
not  revolve  in  their  orbits  with  any  enthusiasm,  as  good 
machines  should;  indeed,  they  groaned  not  a  little; 
but  they  moved  over  and  came  to  rest  in  a  way  which 
proved  that  they  still  recognised  man's  hand.  Then 
Mr.  Wardrop  sent  his  slaves  into  the  darker  bowels  of 
the  engine-room  and  the  stoke-hole,  and  followed  them 
with  a  flare-lamp.  The  boilers  were  sound,  but  would 
take  no  harm  from  a  little  scaling  and  cleaning.  Mr. 
Wardrop  would  not  have  any  one  over-zealous,  for  he 
feared  what  the  next  stroke  of  the  tool  might  show. 
"  The  less  we  know  about  her  now,"  said  he,  "the 
better  for  us  all,  I  'm  thinkin'.  Ye  '11  understand 
[184] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

me  when  I  say  that  this  is  in  no  sense  regular  engi- 
neerinV 

As  his  raiment,  when  he  spoke,  was  his  grey  beard 
and  uncut  hair,  they  believed  him.  They  did  not  ask 
too  much  of  what  they  met,  but  polished  and  tallowed 
and  scraped  it  to  a  false  brilliancy. 

"  A  lick  of  paint  would  make  me  easier  in  my  mind," 
said  Mr.  Wardrop,  plaintively.  "  I  know  half  the  con 
denser-tubes  are  started;  and  the  propeller-shaftin'  's 
God  knows  how  far  out  of  the  true,  and  we  '11  need  a 
new  air-pump,  an'  the  main-steam  leaks  like  a  sieve, 
and  there  's  worse  each  way  I  look;  but— paint  's  like 
clothes  to  a  man,  an'  ours  is  near  all  gone." 

The  skipper  unearthed  some  stale  ropy  paint  of  the 
loathsome  green  that  they  used  for  the  galleys  of 
sailing-ships,  and  Mr.  Wardrop  spread  it  abroad  lav 
ishly  to  give  the  engines  self-respect. 

His  own  was  returning  day  by  day,  for  he  wore  his 
loin-cloth  continuously;  but  the  crew,  having  worked 
under  orders,  did  not  feel  as  he  did.  The  completed 
work  satisfied  Mr.  Wardrop.  He  would  at  the  last 
have  made  shift  to  run  to  Singapore,  and  gone  home 
without  vengeance  taken  to  show  his  engines  to  his 
brethren  in  the  craft;  but  the  others  and  the  captain 
forbade  him.  They  had  not  yet  recovered  their  self- 
respect. 

"  It  would  be  safer  to  make  what  ye  might  call  a  trial 
trip,  but  beggars  must  n't  be  choosers;  an'  if  the 
engines  will  go  over  to  the  hand-gear,  the  probability— 
I  'm  only  saying  it 's  a  probability— the  chance  is  that 
they  '11  hold  up  when  we  put  steam  on  her." 
[185] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

"How  long  will  you  take  to  get  steam?"  said  the 
skipper. 

"  God  knows!  Four  hours— a  day— half  a  week.  If 
I  can  raise  sixty  pound  I  '11  not  complain." 

"  Be  sure  of  her  first;  we  can't  afford  to  go  out  half 
a  mile,  and  break  down." 

u  My  soul  and  body,  man,  we  're  one  continuous 
breakdown,  fore  an'  aft!  We  might  fetch  Singapore, 
though." 

"  We  '11  break  down  at  Pygang-Watai,  where  we  can 
do  good,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  voice  that  did  not  allow 
argument.  "  She  's  my  boat,  and— I  've  had  eight 
months  to  think  in." 

No  man  saw  the  Haliotis  depart,  though  many  heard 
her.  She  left  at  two  in  the  morning,  having  cut  her 
moorings,  and  it  was  none  of  her  crew's  pleasure  that 
the  engines  should  strike  up  a  thundering  half-seas- 
over  chanty  that  echoed  among  the  hills.  Mr.  Wardrop 
wiped  away  a  tear  as  he  listened  to  the  new  song. 

u  She  's  gibberin'— she  's  just  gibberin',"  he  whim 
pered.  "  Yon  's  the  voice  of  a  maniac." 

And  if  engines  have  any  soul,  as  their  masters  believe, 
he  was  quite  right.  There  were  outcries  and  clamours, 
sobs  and  bursts  of  chattering  laughter,  silences  where 
the  trained  ear  yearned  for  the  clear  note,  and  tortur 
ing  reduplications  where  there  should  have  been  one 
deep  voice.  Down  the  screw-shaft  ran  murmurs  and 
warnings,  while  a  heart-diseased  nutter  without  told 
that  the  propeller  needed  re-keying. 

"  How  does  she  make  it? "  said  the  skipper. 

"  She  moves,  but—but  she  's  breakin'  my  heart. 
[186] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

The  sooner  we  're  at  Pygang-Watai,  the  better.  She  's 
mad,  and  we  're  waking  the  town." 

"  Is  she  at  all  near  safe?  " 

' '  What  do  I  care  how  safe  she  is !  She  's  mad.  Hear 
that,  now!  To  be  sure,  nothing  's  hittin'  anything, 
and  the  bearin's  are  fairly  cool,  but— can  ye  not 
hear?" 

"If  she  goes,"  said  the  skipper,  "I  don't  care  a 
curse.  And  she  's  my  boat,  too." 

She  went,  trailing  a  fathom  of  weed  behind  her. 
From  a  slow  two  knots  an  hour  she  crawled  up  to 
a  triumphant  four.  Anything  beyond  that  made  the 
struts  quiver  dangerously,  and  filled  the  engine-room 
with  steam.  Morning  showed  her  out  of  sight  of  land, 
and  there  was  a  visible  ripple  under  her  bows ;  but  she 
complained  bitterly  in  her  bowels,  and,  as  though  the 
noise  had  called  it,  there  shot  along  across  the  purple 
sea  a  swift,  dark  proa,  hawk-like  and  curious,  which 
presently  ranged  alongside  and  wished  to  know  if  the 
Haliotis  were  helpless.  Ships,  even  the  steamers  of  the 
white  men,  had  been  known  to  break  down  in  those 
waters,  and  the  honest  Malay  and  Javanese  traders 
would  sometimes  aid  them  in  their  own  peculiar  way. 
But  this  ship  was  not  full  of  lady  passengers  and 
well-dressed  officers.  Men,  white,  naked  and  savage, 
swarmed  down  her  sides— some  with  red-hot  iron 
bars,  and  others  with  large  hammers— threw  them 
selves  upon  those  innocent  inquiring  strangers,  and, 
before  any  man  could  say  what  had  happened,  were 
in  full  possession  of  the  proa,  while  the  lawful  owners 
bobbed  in  the  water  overside.  Half  an  hour  later 
[187] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

the  proa's  cargo  of  sago  and  trepang,  as  well  as  a 
doubtful-minded  compass,  was  in  the  Haliotis.  The 
two  huge  triangular  mat  sails,  with  their  seventy-foot 
yards  and  booms,  had  followed  the  cargo,  and  were 
being  fitted  to  the  stripped  masts  of  the  steamer. 

They  rose,  they  swelled,  they  filled,  and  the  empty 
steamer  visibly  laid  over  as  the  wind  took  them.  They 
gave  her  nearly  three  knots  an  hour,  and  what  better 
could  men  ask?  But  if  she  had  been  forlorn  before, 
this  new  purchase  made  her  horrible  to  see.  Imagine 
a  respectable  charwoman  hi  the  tights  of  a  ballet-dancer 
rolling  drunk  along  the  streets,  and  you  will  come  to 
some  faint  notion  of  the  appearance  of  that  nine-hun 
dred-ton  well-decked  once  schooner-rigged  cargo-boat 
as  she  staggered  under  her  new  help,  shouting  and 
raving  across  the  deep.  With  steam  and  sail  that  mar 
vellous  voyage  continued;  and  the  bright-eyed  crew 
looked  over  the  rail,  desolate,  unkempt,  unshorn, 
shamelessly  clothed— beyond  the  decencies. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  week  she  sighted  the  island 
of  Pygang-Watai,  whose  harbour  is  the  turning-point 
of  a  pearling  sea-patrol.  Here  the  gunboats  stay  for 
a  week  ere  they  retrace  their  line.  There  is  no  village 
at  Pygang-Watai;  only  a  stream  of  water,  some  palms, 
and  a  harbour  safe  to  rest  in  till  the  first  violence  of  the 
southeast  monsoon  has  blown  itself  out.  They  opened 
up  the  low  coral  beach,  with  its  mound  of  white 
washed  coal  ready  for  supply,  the  deserted  huts  for  the 
sailors,  and  the  flagless  flagstaff. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Haliotis— only  a  little  proa 
rocking  in  the  warm  rain  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
[188] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  DEEP  SEA 

whose  crew  watched  with  hungry  eyes  the  smoke  of  a 
gunboat  on  the  horizon. 

Months  afterwards  there  were  a  few  lines  in  an 
English  newspaper  to  the  effect  that  some  gunboat  of 
some  foreign  Power  had  broken  her  back  at  the  mouth 
of  some  far-away  harbour  by  running  at  full  speed  into 
a  sunken  wreck. 


[189] 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR 


WILLIAM   THE  CONQUEROR 

PART  I 

I  have  done  one  braver  thing 

Than  all  the  worthies  did ; 
And  yet  a  braver  thence  doth  spring, 

Which  is  to  keep  that  hid. 

THE  UNDERTAKING. 

UTS  it  officially  declared  yet? " 

JL  "  They  've  gone  as  far  as  to  admit '  extreme  local 
scarcity,'  and  they  've  started  relief-works  in  one  or 
two  districts,  the  paper  says." 

"  That  means  it  will  be  declared  as  soon  as  they  can 
make  sure  of  the  men  and  the  rolling-stock .  '  Should  n '  t 
wonder  if  it  were  as  bad  as  the  '78  Famine." 

"  'Can't  be,"  said  Scott,  turning  a  little  in  the  long 
cane  chair.  "  We  've  had  fifteen-anna  crops  in  the 
north,  and  Bombay  and  Bengal  report  more  than  they 
know  what  to  do  with.  They  '11  be  able  to  check  it 
before  it  gets  out  of  hand.  It  will  only  be  local." 

Martyn  picked  the  "  Pioneer"  from  the  table,  read 
through  the  telegrams  once  more,  and  put  up  his  feet 
on  the  chair-rests.  It  was  a  hot,  dark,  breathless  even- 
[193] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

ing,  heavy  with  the  smell  of  the  newly  watered  Mall. 
The  flowers  in  the  Club  gardens  were  dead  and  black  on 
their  stalks,  the  little  lotus-pond  was  a  circle  of  caked 
mud,  and  the  tamarisk-trees  were  white  with  the  dust  of 
weeks.  Most  of  the  men  were  at  the  band-stand  in  the 
public  gardens— from  the  Club  verandah  you  could  hear 
the  native  Police  band  hammering  stale  waltzes— or  on 
the  polo-ground,  or  in  the  high- walled  fives-court,  hotter 
than  a  Dutch  oven.  Half  a  dozen  grooms,  squatted  at 
the  heads  of  their  ponies,  waited  their  masters1  return. 
From  time  to  time  a  man  would  ride  at  a  foot-pace  into 
the  Club  compound,  and  listlessly  loaf  over  to  the 
whitewashed  barracks  beside  the  main  building.  These 
were  supposed  to  be  chambers.  Men  lived  in  them, 
meeting  the  same  white  faces  night  after  night  at 
dinner,  and  drawing  out  their  office-work  till  the  latest 
possible  hour,  that  they  might  escape  that  doleful 
company. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do? "  said  Martyn,  with  a 
yawn.     "  Let  's  have  a  swim  before  dinner." 
44  'Water  's  hot.    I  was  at  the  bath  to-day." 
44  'Play  you  game  o'  billiards— fifty  up." 
44  It  's  a  hundred  and  five  in  the  hall  now.     Sit  still 
and  don't  be  so  abominably  energetic." 

A  grunting  camel  swung  up  to  the  porch,  his  badged 
and  belted  rider  fumbling  a  leather  pouch. 

44  Kubber-kargaz-ki-yektraaa, "  the  man  whined, 
handing  down  the  newspaper  extra  —  a  slip  printed  on 
one  side  only,  and  damp  from  the  press.  It  was 
pinned  up  on  the  green-baize  board,  between  notices 
of  ponies  for  sale  and  fox-terriers  missing. 
[194] 


WILLIAM  >THE    CONQUEROR 

Martyn  rose  lazily,  read  it,  and  whistled.  "It  's  de 
clared!  "  he  cried.  "  One,*  two,  three— eight  districts 
go  under  the  operations  of  the  Famine  Code  eJc  dum. 
They  've  put  Jimmy  Hawkins  in  charge." 

4 '  Good  business ! : '  said  Scott,  with  the  first  sign  of 
interest  he  had  shown.  "  When  in  doubt  hire  a  Pun 
jabi.  I  worked  under  Jimmy  when  I  first  came  out  and 
he  belonged  to  the  Punjab.  He  has  more  bundobust 
than  most  men. 

"Jimmy  's  a  Jubilee  Knight  now,"  said  Martyn. 
"  He  's  a  good  chap,  even  though  he  is  a  thrice-born 
civilian  and  went  to  the  Benighted  Presidency.  What 
unholy  names  these  Madras  districts  rejoice  in— all 
ungas  or  rungas  or  pillays  or  polliums  I " 

A  dog-cart  drove  up  in  the  dusk,  and  a  man  entered, 
mopping  his  head.  He  was  editor  of  the  one  daily 
paper  at  the  capital  of  a  Province  of  twenty-five  million 
natives  and  a  few  hundred  white  men  :  as  his  staff 
was  limited  to  himself  and  one  assistant,  his  office- 
hours  ran  variously  from  ten  to  twenty  a  day. 

*'  Hi,  Raines;  you  're  supposed  to  know  everything," 
said  Martyn,  stopping  him.  u  How  's  this  Madras 
'scarcity'  going  to  turn  out?" 

"  No  one  knows  as  yet.  There 's  a  message  as  long  as 
your  arm  coming  in  on  the  telephone.  I  've  left  my 
cub  to  fill  it  out.  Madras  has  owned  she  can't  manage 
it  alone,  and  Jimmy  seems  to  have  a  free  hand  in  get 
ting  all  the  men  he  needs.  Arbuthnot  's  warned  to  hold 
himself  in  readiness." 

"  '  Badger '  Arbuthnot? " 

u  The  Peshawur  chap.  Yes:  and  the  Pi  wires  that 
[195] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

Ellis  and  Clay  have  been  moved  from  the  Northwest 
already,  and  they  've  taken  half  a  dozen  Bombay  men, 
too.  It  ^ pukka  famine,  by  the  looks  of  it." 

"They  're  nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  we  are; 
but  if  it  comes  to  indenting  on  the  Punjab  this  early, 
there  's  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,"  said  Martyn. 

"  Here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  'Did  n't  come  to 
stay  for  ever,"  said  Scott,  dropping  one  of  Marryat's 
novels,  and  rising  to  his  feet.  "  Martyn,  your  sister  's 
waiting  for  you." 

A  rough  grey  horse  was  backing  and  shifting  at  the 
edge  of  the  verandah,  where  the  light  of  a  kerosene- 
lamp  fell  on  a  brown-calico  habit  and  a  white  face 
under  a  grey  felt  hat. 

"Right,  0!"  said  Martyn.  "I'm  ready.  Better 
come  and  dine  with  us,  if  you  've  nothing  to  do,  Scott. 
William,  is  there  any  dinner  in  the  house?  " 

"I  '11  go  home  and  see,"  was  the  rider's  answer. 
"  You  can  drive  him  over— at  eight,  remember." 

Scott  moved  leisurely  to  his  room,  and  changed  into 
the  evening-dress  of  the  season  and  the  country :  spot 
less  white  linen  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  broad  silk 
cummerbund.  Dinner  at  the  Martyns'was  a  decided 
improvement  on  the  goat-mutton,  twiney-tough  fowl, 
and  tinned  entries  of  the  Club.  But  it  was  a  great  pity 
that  Martyn  could  not  afford  to  send  his  sister  to  the 
hills  for  the  hot  weather.  As  an  Acting  District  Su 
perintendent  of  Police,  Martyn  drew  the  magnificent 
pay  of  six  hundred  depreciated  silver  rupees  a  month, 
and  his  little  four-roomed  bungalow  said  just  as  much. 
There  were  the  usual  blue-and- white-striped  jail-made 
[196] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

rugs  on  the  uneven  floor;  the  usual  glass- studded 
Amritsar  phulkaris  draped  on  nails  driven  into  the  flak 
ing  whitewash  of  the  walls ;  the  usual  half-dozen  chairs 
that  did  not  match,  picked  up  at  sales  of  dead  men's 
effects ;  and  the  usual  streaks  of  black  grease  where  the 
leather  punka-thong  ran  through  the  wall.  It  was 
as  though  everything  had  been  unpacked  the  night 
before  to  be  repacked  next  morning.  Not  a  door  in  the 
house  was  true  on  its  hinges.  The  little  windows,  fif 
teen  feet  up,  were  darkened  with  wasp-nests,  and 
lizards  hunted  flies  between  the  beams  of  the  wood- 
ceiled  roof.  But  all  this  was  part  of  Scott's  life.  Thus 
did  people  live  who  had  such  an  income ;  and  in  a  land 
where  each  man's  pay,  age,  and  position  are  printed  in 
a  book,  that  all  may  read,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
play  at  pretence  in  word  or  deed.  Scott  counted  eight 
years'  service  in  the  Irrigation  Department,  and  drew 
eight  hundred  rupees  a  month,  on  the  understanding 
that  if  he  served  the  State  faithfully  for  another  twenty- 
two  years  he  could  retire  on  a  pension  of  some  four  hun 
dred  rupees  a  month.  His  working-life,  which  had  been 
spent  chiefly  under  canvas  or  in  temporary  shelters 
where  a  man  could  sleep,  eat,  and  write  letters,  was 
bound  up  with  the  opening  and  guarding  of  irrigation 
canals,  the  handling  of  two  or  three  thousand  workmen 
of  all  castes  and  creeds,  and  the  payment  of  vast  sums 
of  coined  silver.  He  had  finished  that  spring,  not 
without  credit,  the  last  section  of  the  great  Mosuhl 
Canal,  and— much  against  his  will,  for  he  hated  office- 
work— had  been  sent  in  to  serve  during  the  hot  weather 
on  the  accounts  and  supply  side  of  the  Department,  with 
[197] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

sole  charge  of  the  sweltering  sub-office  at  the  capital 
of  the  Province.  Martyn  knew  this;  William,  his  sis 
ter,  knew  it;  and  everybody  knew  it.  Scott  knew,  too, 
as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  Miss  Martyn  had 
come  out  to  India  four  years  ago  to  keep  house  for 
her  brother,  who,  as  every  one  knew,  had  borrowed  the 
money  to  pay  for  her  passage,  and  that  she  ought,  as 
all  the  world  said,  to  have  married  at  once.  Instead 
of  this,  she  had  refused  some  half  a  dozen  subalterns,  a 
Civilian  twenty  years  her  senior,  one  Major,  and  a  man 
in  the  Indian  Medical  Department.  This,  too,  was  com 
mon  property.  She  had  "  stayed  down  three  hot 
weathers,"  as  the  saying  is,  because  her  brother  was  in 
debt  and  could  not  afford  the  expense  of  her  keep  at 
even  a  cheap  hill- station.  Therefore  her  face  was 
white  as  bone,  and  in  the  centre  of  her  forehead  was  a 
big  silvery  scar  about  the  size  of  a  shilling— the  mark 
of  a  Delhi  sore,  which  is  the  same  as  a  "  Bagdad  date." 
This  comes  from  drinking  bad  water,  and  slowly  eats 
into  the  flesh  till  it  is  ripe  enough  to  be  burned  out. 

None  the  less  William  had  enjoyed  herself  hugely  in 
her  four  years.  Twice  she  had  been  nearly  drowned 
while  fording  a  river;  once  she  had  been  run  away 
with  on  a  camel;  had  witnessed  a  midnight  attack 
of  thieves  on  her  brother's  camp;  had  seen  justice 
administered,  with  long  sticks,  in  the  open  under  trees; 
could  speak  Urdu  and  even  rough  Punjabi  with  a  flu 
ency  that  was  envied  by  her  seniors;  had  entirely 
fallen  out  of  the  habit  of  writing  to  her  aunts  in  Eng 
land,  or  cutting  the  pages  of  the  English  magazines, 
had  been  through  a  very  bad  cholera  year,  seeing 
[198] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

sights  unfit  to  be  told ;  and  had  wound  up  her  experi 
ences  by  six  weeks  of  typhoid  fever,  during  which  her 
head  had  been  shaved— and  hoped  to  keep  her  twenty- 
third  birthday  that  September.  It  is  conceivable  that 
the  aunts  would  not  have  approved  of  a  girl  who  never 
set  foot  on  the  ground  if  a  horse  were  within  hail ;  who 
rode  to  dances  with  a  shawl  thrown  over  her  skirt; 
who  wore  her  hair  cropped  and  curling  all  over  her 
head ;  who  answered  indifferently  to  the  name  of  Wil 
liam  or  Bill ;  whose  speech  was  heavy  with  the  flowers 
of  the  vernacular;  who  could  act  in  amateur  theatri 
cals,  play  on  the  banjo,  rule  eight  servants  and  two 
horses,  their  accounts  and  their  diseases,  and  look  men 
slowly  and  deliberately  between  the  eyes— even  after 
they  had  proposed  to  her  and  been  rejected. 

"  I  like  men  who  do  things,"  she  had  confided  to  a 
man  in  the  Educational  Department,  who  was  teaching 
the  sons  of  cloth-merchants  and  dyers  the  beauty  of 
Wordsworth's  "  Excursion  "  in  annotated  cram-books; 
and  when  he  grew  poetical,  William  explained  that  she 
udid  n't  understand  poetry  very  much;  it  made  her 
head  ache,"  and  another  broken  heart  took  refuge  at 
the  Club.  But  it  was  all  William's  fault.  She  delighted 
in  hearing  men  talk  of  their  own  work,  and  that  is  the 
most  fatal  way  of  bringing  a  man  to  your  feet. 

Scott  had  known  her  for  some  three  years,  meet 
ing  her,  as  a  rule,  under  canvas,  when  his  camp  and 
her  brother's  joined  for  a  day  on  the  edge  of  the  Indian 
Desert.  He  had  danced  with  her  several  times  at  the 
big  Christmas  gatherings,  when  as  many  as  five  hun 
dred  white  people  came  in  to  the  station;  and  had 
[199] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

always  a  great  respect  for  her  housekeeping  and  her 
dinners. 

She  looked  more  like  a  boy  than  ever  when,  the  meal 
ended,  she  sat,  rolling  cigarettes,  her  low  forehead 
puckered  beneath  the  dark  curls  as  she  twiddled  the 
papers  and  stuck  out  her  rounded  chin  when  the 
tobacco  stayed  in  place,  or,  with  a  gesture  as  true  as 
a  school-boy's  throwing  a  stone,  tossed  the  finished 
article  across  the  room  to  Martyn,  who  caught  it  with 
one  hand,  and  continued  his  talk  with  Scott.  It  was 
all  "  shop,"— canals  and  the  policing  of  canals;  the 
sins  of  villagers  who  stole  more  water  than  they  had 
paid  for,  and  the  grosser  sin  of  native  constables  who 
connived  at  the  thefts ;  of  the  transplanting  bodily  of 
villages  to  newly  irrigated  ground,  and  of  the  coming 
fight  with  the  desert  in  the  south  when  the  Provincial 
funds  should  warrant  the  opening  of  the  long-sur 
veyed  Luni  Protective  Canal  System.  And  Scott 
spoke  openly  of  his  great  desire  to  be  put  on  one  par 
ticular  section  of  the  work  where  he  knew  the  land 
and  the  people ;  and  Martyn  sighed  for  a  billet  in  the 
Himalayan  foot-hills,  and  said  his  mind  of  his  superi 
ors,  and  William  rolled  cigarettes  and  said  nothing,  but 
smiled  gravely  on  her  brother  because  he  was  happy. 

At  ten  Scott's  horse  came  to  the  door,  and  the  even 
ing  was  ended. 

The  lights  of  the  two  low  bungalows  in  which  the 
daily  paper  was  printed  showed  bright  across  the  road. 
It  was  too  early  to  try  to  find  sleep,  and  Scott  drifted 
over  to  the  editor.  Raines,  stripped  to  the  waist  like  a 
sailor  at  a  gun,  lay  half  asleep  in  a  long  chair,  waiting 
[200] 


WILLIAM  .THE    CONQUEROR 

for  night  telegrams.  He  had  a  theory  that  if  a  man  did 
not  stay  by  his  work  all  day  and  most  of  the  night  he 
laid  himself  open  to  fever :  so  he  ate  and  slept  among 
his  files. 

u  Can  you  do  it? "  he  said  drowsily.  "  I  did  n't  mean 
to  bring  you  over." 

"  About  what?     I  've  been  dining  at  the  Martyns'." 

"  The  Madras  famine,  of  course.  Martyn  's  warned, 
too.  They  're  taking  men  where  they  can  find  'em.  I 
sent  a  note  to  you  at  the  Club  just  now,  asking  if  you 
could  do  us  a  letter  once  a  week  from  the  south— 
between  two  and  three  columns,  say.  Nothing  sen 
sational,  of  course,  but  just  plain  facts  about  who  is 
doing  what,  and  so  forth.  Our  regular  rates— ten 
rupees  a  column." 

'"Sorry,  but  it  's  out  of  my  line,"  Scott  answered, 
staring  absently  at  the  map  of  India  on  the  wall.  "It  's 
rough  on  Martyn— very.  '  Wonder  what  he  '11  do  with 
his  sister?  '  Wonder  what  the  deuce  they  '11  do  with 
me?  I  've  no  famine  experience.  This  is  the  first  I  've 
heard  of  it.  Am  I  ordered? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Here 's  the  wire.  They '11  put  you  on  to 
relief-works,"  Raines  said,  "  with  a  horde  of  Madrassis 
dying  like  flies ;  one  native  apothecary  and  half  a  pint 
of  cholera-mixture  among  the  ten  thousand  of  you.  It 
comes  of  your  being  idle  for  the  moment.  Every  man 
who  is  n't  doing  two  men's  work  seems  to  have  been 
called  upon.  Hawkins  evidently  believes  in  Punjabis. 
It 's  going  to  be  quite  as  bad  as  anything  they  have  had 
in  the  last  ten  years." 

"It  's  all  in  the  day's  work,  worse  luck.  I  suppose 
[201] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

I  shall  get  my  orders  officially  some  time  to-morrow. 
I  'm  awfully  glad  I  happened  to  drop  in.  'Better  go 
and  pack  my  kit  now.  Who  relieves  me  here— do  you 
know? " 

Raines  turned  over  a  sheaf  of  telegrams.  ' '  McEuan, ' ' 
said  he,  "from  Murree." 

Scott  chuckled.  "  He  thought  he  was  going  to  be 
cool  all  summer.  He  '11  be  very  sick  about  this.  Well, 
no  good  talking.  'Night." 

Two  hours  later,  Scott,  with  a  clear  conscience,  laid 
himself  down  to  rest  on  a  string  cot  in  a  bare  room. 
Two  worn  bullock  trunks,  a  leather  water-bottle,  a  tin 
ice-box,  and  his  pet  saddle  sewed  up  in  sacking  were 
piled  at  the  door,  and  the  Club  secretary's  receipt  for 
last  month '  s  bill  was  under  his  pillow .  His  orders  came 
next  morning,  and  with  them  an  unofficial  telegram 
from  Sir  James  Hawkins,  who  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
forgetting  good  men  when  he  had  once  met  them,  bid 
ding  him  report  himself  with  all  speed  at  some  unpro 
nounceable  place  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  the  south,  for 
the  famine  was  sore  in  the  land,  and  white  men  were 
needed. 

A  pink  and  fattish  youth  arrived  in  the  red-hot 
noonday,  whimpering  a  little  at  fate  and  famines,  which 
never  allowed  any  one  three  months'  peace.  He  was 
Scott's  successor— another  cog  in  the  machinery,  moved 
forward  behind  his  fellow  whose  services,  as  the  official 
announcement  ran,  "  were  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Madras  Government  for  famine  duty  until  further 
orders."  Scott  handed  over  the  funds  in  his  charge, 
showed  him  the  coolest  corner  in  the  office,  warned  him 
[202] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

against  excess  of  zeal,  and,  as  twilight  fell,  departed 
from  the  Club  in  a  hired  carriage,  with  his  faithful 
body-servant,  Faiz  Ullah,  and  a  mound  of  disordered 
baggage  atop,  to  catch  the  southern  mail  at  the  loop- 
holed  and  bastioned  railway-station.  The  heat  from 
the  thick  brick  walls  struck  him  across  the  face  as 
if  it  had  been  a  hot  towel;  and  he  reflected  that  there 
were  at  least  five  nights  and  four  days  of  this  travel  be 
fore  him.  Faiz  Ullah,  used  to  the  chances  of  service, 
plunged  into  the  crowd  on  the  stone  platform,  while 
Scott,  a  black  cheroot  between  his  teeth,  waited  till  his 
compartment  should  be  set  away.  A  dozen  native 
policemen,  with  their  rifles  and  bundles,  shouldered 
into  the  press  of  Punjabi  farmers,  Sikh  craftsmen, 
and  greasy-locked  Afreedee  pedlars,  escorting  with  all 
pomp  Martyn's  uniform-case,  water-bottles,  ice-box, 
and  bedding-roll.  They  saw  Faiz  Ullah's  lifted  hand, 
and  steered  for  it. 

"  My  Sahib  and  your  Sahib,"  said  Faiz  Ullah  to  Mar 
tyn's  man,  "will  travel  together.  Thou  and  I,  O 
brother,  will  thus  secure  the  servants'  places  close  by ; 
and  because  of  our  masters'  authority  none  will  dare  to 
disturb  us." 

When  Faiz  Ullah  reported  all  things  ready,  Scott 
settled  down  at  full  length,  coatless  and  bootless,  on 
the  broad  leather-covered  bunk.  The  heat  under  the 
iron-arched  roof  of  the  station  might  have  been  any 
thing  over  a  hundred  degrees.  At  the  last  moment 
Martyn  entered,  dripping. 

"  Don't  swear,"  said  Scott,  lazily;  "  it  's  too  late  to 
change  your  carriage;  and  we  '11  divide  the  ice." 
[203] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  said  the  policeman. 

"  I  'm  lent  to  the  Madras  Government,  same  as  you. 
By  Jove,  it  's  a  bender  of  a  night!  Are  you  taking 
any  of  your  men  down?  " 

'  *  A  dozen.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  superintend 
relief  distributions.  'Did  n't  know  you  were  under 
orders  too." 

"  I  did  n't  till  after  I  left  you*last  night.  Raines  had 
the  news  first.  My  orders  came  this  morning.  McEuan 
relieved  me  at  four,  and  I  got  off  at  once.  'Should  n't 
wonder  if  it  would  n't  be  a  good  thing— this  famine— if 
we  come  through  it  alive." 

"  Jimmy  ought  to  put  you  and  me  to  work  together," 
said  Martyn;  and  then,  after  a  pause:  "My  sister  's 
here." 

"  Good  business, ' '  said  Scott,  heartily.  * '  Going  to  get 
off  at  Umballa,  I  suppose,  and  go  up  to  Simla.  Who  '11 
she  stay  with  there?  " 

uNo-o;  that  's  just  the  trouble  of  it.  She  's  going 
down  with  me." 

Scott  sat  bolt  upright  under  the  oil  lamps  as  the  train 
jolted  past  Tarn-Taran.  "  What !  You  don't  mean  you 
could  n't  afford—" 

"  Tain't  that.  I  'd  have  scraped  up  the  money 
somehow." 

u  You  might  have  come  to  me,  to  begin  with,"  said 
Scott,  stiffly;  "  we  are  n't  altogether  strangers." 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  be  stuffy  about  it.    I  might,  but 

—you  don't  know  my  sister.     I  've  been  explaining  and 

exhorting  and  all  the  rest  of  it  all  day— lost  my  temper 

since  seven  this  morning,  and  have  n't  got  it  back  yet— 

[204] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

but  she  would  n't  hear  of  any  compromise.  A  woman  's 
entitled  to  travel  with  her  husband  if  she  wants  to; 
and  William  says  she  's  on  the  same  footing.  You  see, 
we  've  been  together  all  our  lives,  more  or  less,  since 
my  people  died.  It  is  n't  as  if  she  were  an  ordinary 
sister. ' ' 

"All  the  sisters  I  've  ever  heard  of  would  have  stayed 
where  they  were  well  off." 

"  She  's  as  clever  as  a  man,  confound  her,"  Martyn 
went  on.  u  She  broke  up  the  bungalow  over  my  head 
while  I  was  talking  at  her.  'Settled  the  whole  thing 
in  three  hours— servants,  horses,  and  all.  I  did  n't  get 
my  orders  till  nine." 

* '  Jimmy  Hawkins  won't  be  pleased, ' '  said  Scott.  ' *  A 
famine  's  no  place  for  a  woman." 

"  Mrs.  Jim— I  mean  Lady  Jim  's  in  camp  with  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  says  she  will  look  after  my  sister. 
William  wired  down  to  her  on  her  own  responsibility, 
asking  if  she  could  come,  and  knocked  the  ground  from 
under  me  by  showing  me  her  answer." 

Scott  laughed  aloud.  "  If  she  can  do  that  she  can 
take  care  of  herself,  and  Mrs.  Jim  won't  let  her  run 
into  any  mischief.  There  are  n't  many  women,  sisters 
or  wives,  who  would  walk  into  a  famine  with  their  eyes 
open.  It  is  n't  as  if  she  did  n't  know  what  these 
things  mean.  She  was  through  the  Jaloo  cholera  last 
year." 

The  train  stopped  at  Amritsar,  and  Scott  went  back 
to  the  ladies'  compartment,  immediately  behind  their 
carriage.  William,  with  a  cloth  riding-cap  on  her  curls, 
nodded  affably. 

[205] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"Come  in  and  have  some  tea,"  she  said.  "'Best 
thing  in  the  world  for  heat-apoplexy." 

"  Do  I  look  as  if  I  were  going  to  have  heat-apo 
plexy?" 

"'Never  can  tell,"  said  William,  wisely.  "It  's 
always  best  to  be  ready." 

She  had  arranged  her  compartment  with  the  know 
ledge  of  an  old  campaigner.  A  felt-covered  water-bottle 
hung  in  the  draught  of  one  of  the  shuttered  windows ; 
a  tea-set  of  Russian  china,  packed  in  a  wadded  bas 
ket,  stood  on  the  seat ;  and  a  travelling  spirit-lamp  was 
clamped  against  the  woodwork  above  it. 

William  served  them  generously,  in  large  cups,  hot 
tea,  which  saves  the  veins  of  the  neck  from  swelling 
inopportunely  on  a  hot  night.  It  was  characteristic  of 
the  girl  that,  her  plan  of  action  once  settled,  she  asked 
for  no  comments  on  it.  Life  among  men  who  had  a 
great  deal  of  work  to  do,  and  very  little  time  to  do  it 
in,  had  taught  her  the  wisdom  of  effacing,  as  well  as 
of  fending  for,  herself.  She  did  not  by  word  or  deed 
suggest  that  she  would  be  useful,  comforting,  or  beau 
tiful  in  their  travels,  but  continued  about  her  business 
serenely :  put  the  cups  back  without  clatter  when  tea 
was  ended,  and  made  cigarettes  for  her  guests. 

"  This  time  last  night,"  said  Scott,  "we  did  n't  expect 
— er— this  kind  of  thing,  did  we? " 

"I  've  learned  to  expect  anything,"  said  William. 
"  You  know,  in  our  service,  we  live  at  the  end  of  the 
telegraph ;  but,  of  course,  this  ought  to  be  a  good  thing 
for  us  all,  departmentally— if  we  live." 

"  It  knocks  us  out  of  the  running  in  our  own  Prov- 
[206] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

ince,"  Scott  replied,  with  equal  gravity.  "  I  hoped  to 
be  put  on  the  Luni  Protective  Works  this  cold  weather, 
but  there  's  no  saying  how  long  the  famine  may  keep 
us." 

"Hardly  beyond  October,  I  should  think,"  said 
Martyn.  "  It  will  be  ended,  one  way  or  the  other, 
then." 

"  And  we  've  nearly  a  week  of  this,"  said  William. 
"  Sha'n't  we  be  dusty  when  it  's  over? " 

For  a  night  and  a  day  they  knew  their  surroundings, 
and  for  a  night  and  a  day,  skirting  the  edge  of  the  great 
Indian  Desert  on  a  narrow-gauge  railway,  they  remem 
bered  how  hi  the  days  of  their  apprenticeship  they  had 
come  by  that  road  from  Bombay.  Then  the  languages 
in  which  the  names  of  the  stations  were  written 
changed,  and  they  launched  south  into  a  foreign  land, 
where  the  very  smells  were  new.  Many  long  and 
heavily  laden  grain-trains  were  in  front  of  them,  and 
they  could  feel  the  hand  of  Jimmy  Hawkins  from  far 
off.  They  waited  in  extemporised  sidings  while  proces 
sions  of  empty  trucks  returned  to  the  north,  and 
were  coupled  on  to  slow,  crawling  trains,  and  dropped 
at  midnight,  Heaven  knew  where ;  but  it  was  furiously 
hot,  and  they  walked  to  and  fro  among  sacks,  and  dogs 
howled.  Then  they  came  to  an  India  more  strange  to 
them  than  to  the  untra veiled  Englishman— the  flat,  red 
India  of  palm-tree,  palmyra-palm,  and  rice— the  India 
of  the  picture-books,  of  "  Little  Harry  and  His  Bearer  " 
—all  dead  and  dry  in  the  baking  heat.  They  had  left 
the  incessant  passenger-traffic  of  the  north  and  west 
far  and  far  behind  them.  Here  the  people  crawled 
[207] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

to  the  side  of  the  train,  holding  their  little  ones  in  their 
arms;  and  a  loaded  truck  would  be  left  behind,  the 
men  and  women  clustering  round  it  like  ants  by  spilled 
honey.  Once  in  the  twilight  they  saw  on  a  dusty  plain 
a  regiment  of  little  brown  men,  each  bearing  a  body 
over  his  shoulder;  and  when  the  train  stopped  to  leave 
yet  another  truck,  they  perceived  that  the  burdens 
were  not  corpses,  but  only  foodless  folk  picked  up  be 
side  dead  oxen  by  a  corps  of  Irregular  troops.  Now 
they  met  more  white  men,  here  one  and  there  two, 
whose  tents  stood  close  to  the  line,  and  who  came 
armed  with  written  authorities  and  angry  words  to  cut 
off  a  truck.  They  were  too  busy  to  do  more  than  nod 
at  Scott  and  Martyn,  and  stare  curiously  at  William, 
who  could  do  nothing  except  make  tea,  and  watch  how 
her  men  staved  off  the  rush  of  wailing,  walking  skele 
tons,  putting  them  down  three  at  a  time  in  heaps,  with 
their  own  hands  uncoupling  the  marked  trucks,  or  tak 
ing  receipts  from  the  hollow-eyed,  weary  white  men, 
who  spoke  another  argot  than  theirs.  They  ran  out  of 
ice,  out  of  soda-water,  and  out  of  tea;  for  they  were 
six  days  and  seven  nights  on  the  road,  and  it  seemed 
to  them  like  seven  times  seven  years. 

At  last,  in  a  dry,  hot  dawn,  in  a  land  of  death,  lit  by 
long  red  fires  of  railway-sleepers,  where  they  were 
burning  the  dead,  they  came  to  their  destination,  and 
were  met  by  Jim  Hawkins,  the  Head  of  the  Famine, 
unshaven,  unwashed,  but  cheery,  and  entirely  in  com 
mand  of  affairs. 

Martyn,  he  decreed  then  and  there,  was  to  live  on 
trains  till  further  orders;  was  to  go  back  with  empty 
[208] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

trucks,  filling  them  with  starving  people  as  he  found 
them,  and  dropping  them  at  a  famine-camp  on  the  edge 
of  the  Eight  Districts.  He  would  pick  up  supplies  and 
return,  and  his  constables  would  guard  the  loaded  grain- 
cars,  also  picking  up  people,  and  would  drop  them  at  a 
camp  a  hundred  miles  south.  Scott— Hawkins  was  very 
glad  to  see  Scott  again— would  that  same  hour  take 
charge  of  a  convoy  of  bullock-carts,  and  would  go 
south,  feeding  as  he  went,  to  yet  another  famine-camp, 
where  he  would  leave  his  starving— there  would  be  no 
lack  of  starving  on  the  route— and  wait  for  orders  by 
telegraph.  Generally,  Scott  was  in  all  small  things  to 
act  as  he  thought  best. 

William  bit  her  under  lip.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
wide  world  like  her  one  brother,  but  Martyn's  orders 
gave  him  no  discretion.  She  came  out  on  the  platform, 
masked  with  dust  from  head  to  foot,  a  horse-shoe 
wrinkle  on  her  forehead,  put  here  by  much  thinking 
during  the  past  week,  but  as  self-possessed  as  ever. 
Mrs.  Jim— who  should  have  been  Lady  Jim  but  that  no 
one  remembered  the  title— took  possession  of  her  with 
a  little  gasp. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  here,"  she  almost  sobbed. 
"  You  ought  n't  to,  of  course,  but  there— there  is  n't 
another  woman  in  the  place,  and  we  must  help  each 
other,  you  know ;  and  we ' ve  all  the  wretched  people  and 
the  little  babies  they  are  selling." 

"  I  've  seen  some,"  said  William. 

41  Is  n't  it  ghastly?  I  've  bought  twenty;  they  're  in 
our  camp;  but  won't  you  have  something  to  eat  first? 
We  've  more  than  ten  people  can  do  here;  and  I  've 
[209] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

got  a  horse  for  you.  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  you  've  come, 
dear.  You  're  a  Punjabi,  too,  you  know." 

"Steady,  Lizzie,"  said  Hawkins,  over  his  shoulder. 
"  We  '11  look  after  you,  Miss  Martyn.  'Sorry  I  can't 
ask  you  to  breakfast,  Martyn.  You  '11  have  to  eat  as 
you  go.  Leave  two  of  your  men  to  help  Scott.  These 
poor  devils  can't  stand  up  to  load  carts.  Saunders  " 
(this  to  the  engine-driver,  who  was  half  asleep  in  the 
cab) , ' '  back  down  and  get  those  empties  away.  You  ' ve 
'  line  clear '  to  Anundrapillay ;  they  '11  give  you  orders 
north  of  that.  Scott,  load  up  your  carts  from  that 
B.  P.  P.  truck,  and  be  off  as  soon  as  you  can.  The 
Eurasian  in  the  pink  shirt  is  your  interpreter  and  guide. 
You  '11  find  an  apothecary  of  sorts  tied  to  the  yoke  of 
the  second  wagon.  He  's  been  trying  to  bolt;  you  '11 
have  to  look  after  him.  Lizzie,  drive  Miss  Martyn  to 
camp,  and  tell  them  to  send  the  red  horse  down  here 
forme." 

Scott,  with  Faiz  Ullah  and  two  policemen,  was  already 
busied  with  the  carts,  backing  them  up  to  the  truck 
and  unbolting  the  sideboards  quietly,  while  the  others 
pitched  in  the  bags  of  millet  and  wheat.  Hawkins 
watched  him  for  as  long  as  it  took  to  fill  one  cart. 

"  That  's  a  good  man,"  he  said.  "  If  all  goes  well  I 
shall  work  him  hard. ' '  This  was  Jim  Hawkins' s  notion 
of  the  highest  compliment  one  human  being  could  pay 
another. 

An  hour  later  Scott  was  under  way ;  the  apothecary 

threatening  him  with  the  penalties  of  the  law  for  that 

he,  a  member  of  the  Subordinate  Medical  Department. 

had  been  coerced  and  bound  against  his  will  and  all 

[210] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

laws  governing  the  liberty  of  the  subject;  the  pink- 
shirted  Eurasian  begging  leave  to  see  his  mother,  who 
happened  to  be  dying  some  three  miles  away:  "  Only 
verree,  verree  short  leave  of  absence,  and  will  presently 
return,  sar— ";  the  two  constables,  armed  with  staves, 
bringing  up  the  rear;  and  Faiz  Ullah,  a  Mohammedan's 
contempt  for  all  Hindoos  and  foreigners  in  every  line 
of  his  face,  explaining  to  the  drivers  that  though  Scott 
Sahib  was  a  man  to  be  feared  on  all  fours,  he,  Faiz 
Ullah,  was  Authority  Itself. 

The  procession  creaked  past  Hawkins's  camp— three 
stained  tents  under  a  clump  of  dead  trees,  behind  them 
the  famine-shed,  where  a  crowd  of  hopeless  ones  tossed 
their  arms  around  the  cooking-kettles. 

"  'Wish  to  Heaven  William  had  kept  out  of  it,"  said 
Scott  to  himself,  after  a  glance.  "  We  '11  have  cholera, 
sure  as  a  gun,  when  the  Rains  break." 

But  William  seemed  to  have  taken  kindly  to  the 
operations  of  the  Famine  Code,  which,  when  famine  is 
declared,  supersede  the  workings  of  the  ordinary  law. 
Scott  saw  her,  the  centre  of  a  mob  of  weeping  women, 
in  a  calico  riding-habit,  and  a  blue-grey  felt  hat  with 
a  gold  puggaree. 

"  I  want  fifty  rupees,  please.  I  forgot  to  ask  Jack 
before  he  went  away.  Can  you  lend  it  me?  It  's  for 
condensed-milk  for  the  babies,"  said  she. 

Scott  took  the  money  from  his  belt,  and  handed  it 
over  without  a  word.  "  For  goodness  sake,  take  care 
of  yourself,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right.  We  ought  to  get  the  milk  in 
two  days.  By  the  way,  the  orders  are,  I  was  to  tell  you, 
[211] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

that  you  're  to  take  one  of  Sir  Jim's  horses.  There  's 
a  grey  Cabuli  here  that  I  thought  would  be  just  your 
style,  so  I  've  said  you  'd  take  him.  Was  that  right? " 

"  That  's  awfully  good  of  you.  We  can't  either  of 
us  talk  much  about  style,  I  am  afraid." 

Scott  was  in  a  weather-stained  drill  shooting-kit,  very 
white  at  the  seams  and  a  little  frayed  at  the  wrists. 
William  regarded  him  thoughtfully,  from  his  pith  hel 
met  to  his  greased  ankle-boots.  "  You  look  very  nice, 
I  think.  Are  you  sure  you  've  everything  you  '11  need 
—quinine,  chlorodyne,  and  so  on? " 

"  'Think  so,"  said  Scott,  patting  three  or  four  of  his 
shooting-pockets  as  he  mounted  and  rode  alongside  his 
convoy. 

"  Good-bye,  "he  cried. 

4 'Good-bye,  and  good  luck,"  said  William.  "  I  'm 
awfully  obliged  for  the  money."  She  turned  on  a 
spurred  heel  and  disappeared  into  the  tent,  while  the 
carts  pushed  on  past  the  famine-sheds,  past  the  roaring 
lines  of  the  thick,  fat  fires,  down  to  the  baked  Gehenna 
of  the  South. 


[212] 


PART  H 

So  let  us  melt  and  make  no  noise, 
No  tear-floods  nor  sigh-tempests  move ; 

'T  were  profanation  of  our  joys 
To  tell  the  Laity  our  love. 

A  VALEDICTION. 

IT  was  punishing  work,  even  though  he  travelled  by 
night  and  camped  by  day ;  but  within  the  limits  of  his 
vision  there  was  no  man  whom  Scott  could  call  master. 
He  was  as  free  as  Jimmy  Hawkins— freer,  in  fact,  for 
the  Government  held  the  Head  of  the  Famine  tied 
neatly  to  a  telegraph-wire,  and  if  Jimmy  had  ever 
regarded  telegrams  seriously,  the  death-rate  of  that 
famine  would  have  been  much  higher  than  it  was. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days'  crawling  Scott  learned 
something  of  the  size  of  the  India  which  he  served,  and 
it  astonished  him.  His  carts,  as  you  know,  were 
loaded  with  wheat,  millet,  and  barley,  good  food-grains 
needing  only  a  little  grinding.  But  the  people  to  whom 
he  brought  the  life-giving  stuffs  were  rice-eaters.  They 
could  hull  rice  in  their  mortars,  but  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  heavy  stone  querns  of  the  North,  and 
less  of  the  material  that  the  white  man  convoyed  so  la 
boriously,  They  clamoured  for  rice— unhusked  paddy, 
[213] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

such  as  they  were  accustomed  to— and,  when  they 
found  that  there  was  none,  broke  away  weeping  from 
the  sides  of  the  cart.  What  was  the  use  of  these  strange 
hard  grains  that  choked  their  throats?  They  would 
die.  And  then  and  there  very  many  of  them  kept  their 
word.  Others  took  their  allowance,  and  bartered  enough 
millet  to  feed  a  man  through  a  week  for  a  few  handf uls 
of  rotten  rice  saved  by  some  less  unfortunate.  A  few 
put  their  shares  into  the  rice-mortars,  pounded  it,  and 
made  a  paste  with  foul  water;  but  they  were  very  few. 
Scott  understood  dimly  that  many  people  in  the  India 
of  the  South  ate  rice,  as  a  rule,  but  he  had  spent  his 
service  in  a  grain  Province,  had  seldom  seen  rice  in  the 
blade  or  ear,  and  least  of  all  would  have  believed 
that  in  time  of  deadly  need  men  could  die  at  arm's 
length  of  plenty,  sooner  than  touch  food  they  did  not 
know.  In  vain  the  interpreters  interpreted;  in  vain 
his  two  policemen  showed  in  vigorous  pantomime  what 
should  be  done.  The  starving  crept  away  to  their  bark 
and  weeds,  grubs,  leaves,  and  clay,  and  left  the  open 
sacks  untouched.  But  sometimes  the  women  laid  their 
phantoms  of  children  at  Scott's  feet,  looking  back  as 
they  staggered  away. 

Faiz  Ullah  opined  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  these 
foreigners  should  die,  and  it  remained  only  to  give 
orders  to  burn  the  dead.  None  the  less  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  Sahib  should  lack  his  comforts,  and 
Faiz  Ullah,  a  campaigner  of  experience,  had  picked  up 
a  few  lean  goats  and  had  added  them  to  the  procession. 
That  they  might  give  milk  for  the  morning  meal,  he 
was  feeding  them  on  the  good  grain  that  these  imbeciles 
[214] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

rejected.  "Yes,"  said  Faiz  Ullah;  "if  the  Sahib 
thought  fit,  a  little  milk  might  be  given  to  some  of  the 
babies  ' ' ;  but,  as  the  Sahib  well  knew,  babies  were 
cheap,  and,  for  his  own  part,.  Faiz  Ullah  held  that  there 
was  no  Government  order  as  to  babies.  Scott  spoke 
forcefully  to  Faiz  Ullah  and  the  two  policemen,  and 
bade  them  capture  goats  where  they  could  find  them. 
This  they  most  joyfully  did,  for  it  was  a  recreation, 
and  many  ownerless  goats  were  driven  in.  Once  fed, 
the  poor  brutes  were  willing  enough  to  follow  the 
carts,  and  a  few  days'  good  food— food  such  as  human 
beings  died  for  lack  of —set  them  in  milk  again. 

"  But  I  am  no  goatherd,"  said  Faiz  Ullah.  "It  is 
against  my  izzat  [my  honour]." 

' '  When  we  cross  the  Bias  River  again  we  will  talk  of 
izzat ,"  Scott  replied.  "Till  that  day  thou  and  the 
policemen  shall  be  sweepers  to  the  camp,  if  I  give  the 
order." 

.  "Thus,  then,  it  is  done,"  grunted  Faiz  Ullah,  "if 
the  Sahib  will  have  it  so " ;  and  he  showed  how  a 
goat  should  be  milked,  while  Scott  stood  over  him. 

"  Now  we  will  feed  them,"  said  Scott;  "  twice  a  day 
we  will  feed  them";  and  he  bowed  his  back  to  the 
milking,  and  took  a  horrible  cramp. 

When  you  have  to  keep  connection  unbroken  between 
a  restless  mother  of  kids  and  a  baby  who  is  at  the  point 
of  death,  you  suffer  in  all  your  system.  But  the 
babies  were  fed.  Each  morning  and  evening  Scott 
would  solemnly  lift  them  out  one  by  one  from  their 
nest  of  gunny-bags  under  the  cart-tilts.  There  were 
always  many  who  could  do  no  more  than  breathe,  and 
[215] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

the  milk  was  dropped  into  their  toothless  mouths  drop 
by  drop,  with  due  pauses  when  they  choked.  Each 
morning,  too,  the  goats  were  fed ;  and  since  they  would 
straggle  without  a  leader,  and  since  the  natives  were 
hirelings,  Scott  was  forced  to  give  up  riding,  and  pace 
slowly  at  the  head  of  his  flocks,  accommodating  his  step 
to  their  weaknesses.  All  this  was  sufficiently  absurd, 
and  he  felt  the  absurdity  keenly ;  but  at  least  he  was 
saving  life,  and  when  the  women  saw  that  their  chil 
dren  did  not  die,  they  made  shift  to  eat  a  little  of  the 
strange  foods,  and  crawled  after  the  carts,  blessing  the 
master  of  the  goats. 

"  Give  the  women  something  to  live  for,"  said  Scott 
to  himself,  as  he  sneezed  in  the  dust  of  a  hundred  little 
feet,  **  and  they  '11  hang  on  somehow.  This  beats  Wil 
liam's  condensed-milk  trick  all  to  pieces.  I  shall  never 
live  it  down,  though." 

He  reached  his  destination  very  slowly,  found  that 
a  rice- ship  had  come  in  from  Burmah,  and  that  stores 
of  paddy  were  available;  found  also  an  overworked 
Englishman  in  charge  of  the  shed,  and,  loading  the 
carts,  set  back  to  cover  the  ground  he  had  already 
passed.  He  left  some  of  the  children  and  half  his  goats 
at  the  famine-shed.  For  this  he  was  not  thanked  by 
the  Englishman,  who  had  already  more  stray  babies 
than  he  knew  what  to  do  with.  Scott's  back  was  sup 
pled  to  stooping  now,  and  he  went  on  with  his  wayside 
ministrations  in  addition  to  distributing  the  paddy. 
More  babies  and  more  goats  were  added  unto  him ;  but 
now  some  of  the  babies  wore  rags,  and  beads  round 
their  wrists  or  necks.  "That,"  said  the  interpreter, 
[216] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

as  though  Scott  did  not  know,  "  signifies  that  their 
mothers  hope  in  eventual  contingency  to  resume  them 
off  eecially . " 

"  The  sooner,  the  better,"  said  Scott;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  marked,  with  the  pride  of  ownership,  how  this 
or  that  little  Ramasawmy  was  putting  on  flesh  like  a 
bantam.  As  the  paddy-carts  were  emptied  he  headed 
for  Hawkins's  camp  by  the  railway,  timing  his  arrival 
to  fit  in  with  the  dinner-hour,  for  it  was  long  since  he 
had  eaten  at  a  cloth.  He  had  no  desire  to  make  any 
dramatic  entry,  but  an  accident  of  the  sunset  ordered 
it  that  when  he  had  taken  off  his  helmet  to  get  the  even 
ing  breeze, the  low  light  should  fall  across  his  forehead, 
and  he  could  not  see  what  was  before  him;  while  one 
waiting  at  the  tent  door  beheld  with  new  eyes  a  young 
man,  beautiful  as  Paris,  a  god  in  a  halo  of  golden  dust, 
walking  slowly  at  the  head  of  his  flocks,  while  at  his 
knee  ran  small  naked  Cupids.  But  she  laughed— Wil 
liam,  in  a  slate-coloured  blouse,  laughed  consumedly  till 
Scott,  putting  the  best  face  he  could  upon  the  matter, 
halted  his  armies  and  bade  her  admire  the  kindergarten. 
It  was  an  unseemly  sight,  but  the  proprieties  had  been 
left  ages  ago,  with  the  tea-party  at  Amritsar  Station, 
fifteen  hundred  miles  to  the  north. 

'  *  They  are  coming  on  nicely, ' '  said  William.  * '  We ' ve 
only  five-and-twenty  here  now.  The  women  are  be 
ginning  to  take  them  away  again." 

"  Are  you  in  charge  of  the  babies,  then? " 

"  Yes— Mrs.  Jim  and  I.  We  did  n't  think  of  goats, 
though.  We  've  been  trying  condensed-milk  and 
water." 

[217] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"Any  losses?" 

"  More  than  I  care  to  think  of,"  said  "William,  with 
a  shudder.  "  And  you? " 

Scott  said  nothing.  There  had  been  many  little 
burials  along  his  route— one  cannot  burn  a  dead  baby 
—many  mothers  who  had  wept  when  they  did  not  find 
again  the  children  they  had  trusted  to  the  care  of  the 
Government. 

Then  Hawkins  came  out  carrying  a  razor,  at  which 
Scott  looked  hungrily,  for  he  had  a  beard  that  he  did  not 
love.  And  when  they  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  tent 
he  told  his  tale  in  few  words,  as  it  might  have  been  an 
official  report.  Mrs.  Jim  snuffled  from  time  to  time, 
and  Jim  bowed  his  head  judicially;  but  William's 
grey  eyes  were  on  the  clean-shaven  face,  and  it  was  to 
her  that  Scott  seemed  to  appeal. 

' '  Good  for  the  Pauper  Province ! ' '  said  William,  her 
chin  on  her  hand,  as  she  leaned  forward  among  the  wine 
glasses.  Her  cheeks  had  fallen  hi,  and  the  scar  on  her 
forehead  was  more  prominent  than  ever,  but  the  well- 
turned  neck  rose  roundly  as  a  column  from  the  ruffle 
of  the  blouse  which  was  the  accepted  evening-dress  in 
camp. 

* '  It  was  awfully  absurd  at  times, ' '  said  Scott.  ' '  You 
see,  I  did  n't  know  much  about  milking  or  babies. 
They  '11  chaff  my  head  off,  if  the  tale  goes  up  North." 

"Let  'em,"  said  William,  haughtily.  "We  've  all 
done  coolie-work  since  we  came.  I  know  Jack  has." 
This  was  to  Hawkins's  address,  and  the  big  man 
smiled  blandly. 

"  Your  brother  's  a  highly  efficient  officer,  William," 
[218] 


WILLIAM  /THE    CONQUEROR 

said  he,  "  and  I  've  done  him  the  honour  of  treating 
him  as  he  deserves.  Remember,  I  write  the  confiden 
tial  reports." 

"  Then  you  must  say  that  William 's  worth  her  weight 
in  gold,"  said  Mrs.  Jim.  "I  don't  know  what  we 
should  have  done  without  her.  She  has  been  every 
thing  to  us."  She  dropped  her  hand  upon  William's, 
which  was  rough  with  much  handling  of  reins,  and 
William  patted  it  softly.  Jim  beamed  on  the  company. 
Things  were  going  well  with  his  world.  Three  of  his 
more  grossly  incompetent  men  had  died,  and  their 
places  had  been  filled  by  their  betters.  Every  day 
brought  the  Rains  nearer.  They  had  put  out  the 
famine  in  five  of  the  Eight  Districts,  and,  after  all,  the 
death-rate  had  not  been  too  heavy— things  considered. 
He  looked  Scott  over  carefully,  as  an  ogre  looks  over  a 
man,  and  rejoiced  in  his  thews  and  iron-hard  condition. 

"  He  's  just  the  least  bit  in  the  world  tucked  up," 
said  Jim  to  himself,  "  but  he  can  do  two  men's  work 
yet."  Then  he  was  aware  that  Mrs.  Jim  was  tele 
graphing  to  him,  and  according  to  the  domestic  code 
the  message  ran:  "  A  clear  case.  Look  at  them!  " 

He  looked  and  listened.  All  that  William  was  saying 
was:  "  What  can  you  expect  of  a  country  where  they 
call  a  bhistee  [a  water-carrier]  a  tunni-cutcht "  and  all 
that  Scott  answered  was:  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  back 
to  the  Club.  Save  me  a  dance  at  the  Christmas  Ball, 
won't  you? " 

"It  's  a  far  cry  from  here  to  the  Lawrence  Hall," 
said  Jim.     "  Better  turn  in  early,  Scott.     It  's  paddy- 
carts  to-morrow;  you  '11  begin  loading  at  five." 
[219] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  Are  n't  you  going  to  give  Mr.  Scott  a  single  day's 
rest?" 

"  'Wish  I  could,  Lizzie,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  can't.  As 
long  as  he  can  stand  up  we  must  use  him. ' ' 

"  Well,  I  've  had  one  Europe  evening,  at  least.  By 
Jove,  I  'd  nearly  forgotten!  What  do  I  do  about  those 
babies  of  mine?" 

"Leave  them  here,"  said  William—"  we  are  in 
charge  of  that— and  as  many  goats  as  you  can  spare. 
I  must  learn  how  to  milk  now." 

"  If  you  care  to  get  up  early  enough  to-morrow  I  '11 
show  you.  I  have  to  milk,  you  see.  Half  of  'em  have 
beads  and  things  round  their  necks.  You  must  be  care 
ful  not  to  take  'em  off,  in  case  the  mothers  turn  up." 

*'  You  forget  I  've  had  some  experience  here." 

"I  hope  to  goodness  you  won't  overdo."  Scott's 
voice  was  unguarded. 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  her,"  said  Mrs.  Jim,  telegraphing 
hundred-word  messages  as  she  carried  William  off, 
while  Jim  gave  Scott  his  orders  for  the  coming  cam 
paign.  It  was  very  late— nearly  nine  o'clock. 

"  Jim,  you  're  a  brute,"  said  his  wife,  that  night;  and 
the  Head  of  the  Famine  chuckled. 

4  *  Not  a  bit  of  it,  dear.  I  remember  doing  the  first  Jan- 
diala  Settlement  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  in  a  crinoline,  and 
she  was  slender,  Lizzie.  I  've  never  done  as  good  a 
piece  of  work  since.  He  '11  work  like  a  demon." 

"  But  you  might  have  given  him  one  day." 

"  And  let  things  come  to  a  head  now?  No,  dear;  it 's 
their  happiest  time." 

"  I  don't  believe  either  of  the  darlings  know  what 's 
[220] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

the  matter  with  them.    Is  n't  it  beautiful?    Is  n't  it 
lovely?" 

"  Getting  up  at  three  to  learn  to  milk,  bless  her 
heart!  Oh,  ye  Gods,  why  must  we  grow  old  and  fat? " 

"  She  's  a  darling.  She  has  done  more  work  under 
me-" 

"Undertow/  The  day  after  she  came  she  was  in 
charge  and  you  were  her  subordinate.  You  Ve  stayed 
there  ever  since;  she  manages  you  almost  as  well  as 
you  manage  me." 

'*  She  does  n't,  and  that 's  why  I  love  her.  She  's  as 
direct  as  a  man— as  her  brother." 

"  Her  brother  's  weaker  than  she  is.  He  's  always 
coming  to  me  for  orders;  but  he  's  honest,  and  a  glut 
ton  for  work.  I  confess  I  'm  rather  fond  of  William, 
and  if  I  had  a  daughter—" 

The  talk  ended.  Far  away  in  the  Derajat  was  a 
child's  grave  more  than  twenty  years  old,  and  neither 
Jim  nor  his  wife  spoke  of  it  any  more. 

"  All  the  same,  you  're  responsible,"  Jim  added,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"  Bless  'em!  "  said  Mrs.  Jim,  sleepily. 

Before  the  stars  paled,  Scott,  who  slept  in  an  empty 
cart,  waked  and  went  about  his  work  in  silence;  it 
seemed  at  that  hour  unkind  to  rouse  Faiz  Ullah  and  the 
interpreter.  His  head  being  close  to  the  ground,  he 
did  not  hear  William  till  she  stood  over  him  in  the 
dingy  old  riding-habit,  her  eyes  still  heavy  with  sleep, 
a  cup  of  tea  and  a  piece  of  toast  in  her  hands.  There  was 
a  baby  on  the  ground,  squirming  on  a  piece  of  blanket, 
and  a  six-year-old  child  peered  over  Scott's  shoulder. 
[221] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  Hai,  you  little  rip,"  said  Scott,  "  how  the  deuce  do 
you  expect  to  get  your  rations  if  you  are  n't  quiet? " 

A  cool  white  hand  steadied  the  brat,  who  forthwith 
choked  as  the  milk  gurgled  into  his  mouth. 

"  'Mornin',"  said  the  milker.  "  You  've  no  notion 
how  these  little  fellows  can  wriggle." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have."  She  whispered,  because  the 
world  was  asleep.  "  Only  I  feed  them  with  a  spoon  or 
a  rag.  Yours  are  fatter  than  mine.  .  .  .  And  you  've 
been  doing  this  day  after  day? ' '  The  voice  was  almost 
lost. 

**  Yes;  it  was  absurd.  Now  you  try,"  he  said,  giv 
ing  place  to  the  girl.  "Look  out!  A  goat  's  not  a 
cow." 

The  goat  protested  against  the  amateur,  and  there 
was  a  scuffle,  in  which  Scott  snatched  up  the  baby. 
Then  it  was  all  to  do  over  again,  and  William  laughed 
softly  and  merrily.  She  managed,  however,  to  feed 
two  babies,  and  a  third. 

"  Don't  the  little  beggars  take  it  well? "  said  Scott. 
"  I  trained  'em." 

They  were  very  busy  and  interested,  when  lo !  it  was 
broad  daylight,  and  before  they  knew,  the  camp  was 
awake,  and  they  kneeled  among  the  goats,  surprised  by 
the  day,  both  flushed  to  the  temples.  Yet  all  the  round 
world  rolling  up  out  of  the  darkness  might  have  heard 
and  seen  all  that  had  passed  between  them. 

"  Oh,"  said  William,  unsteadily,  snatching  up  the  tea 
and  toast,  "  I  had  this  made  for  you.     It  's  stone-cold 
now.    I  thought  you  might  n't  have  anything  ready  so 
early.     '  Better  not  drink  it.    It 's— it 's  stone-cold." 
[222] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  That  's  awfully  kind  of  you.  It 's  just  right.  It  's 
awfully  good  of  you,  really.  I  '11  leave  my  kids  and 
goats  with  you  and  Mrs.  Jim,  and,  of  course,  any  one 
in  camp  can  show  you  about  the  milking. ' ' 

"  Of  course,"  said  William;  and  she  grew  pinker  and 
pinker  and  statelier  and  more  stately,  as  she  strode 
back  to  her  tent,  fanning  herself  with  the  saucer. 

There  were  shrill  lamentations  through  the  camp 
when  the  elder  children  saw  their  nurse  move  off  with 
out  them.  Faiz  Ullah  unbent  so  far  as  to  jest  with  the 
policemen,  and  Scott  turned  purple  with  shame  because 
Hawkins,  already  in  the  saddle,  roared. 

A  child  escaped  from  the  care  of  Mrs.  Jim,  and,  run 
ning  like  a  rabbit,  clung  to  Scott's  boot,  William  pur 
suing  with  long,  easy  strides. 

"  I  will  not  go— I  will  not  go!  "  shrieked  the  child, 
twining  his  feet  round  Scott's  ankle.  "  They  will  kill 
me  here.  I  do  not  know  these  people." 

"  I  say,"  said  Scott,  in  broken  Tamil,  "  I  say,  she  will 
do  you  no  harm.  Go  with  her  and  be  well  fed." 

"Come!"  said  William,  panting,  with  a  wrathful 
glance  at  Scott,  who  stood  helpless  and,  as  it  were, 
hamstrung. 

"Go  back,"  said  Scott  quickly  to  William.  "  I  '11 
send  the  little  chap  over  in  a  minute." 

The  tone  of  authority  had  its  effect,  but  in  a  way 
Scott  did  not  exactly  intend.  The  boy  loosened  his 
grasp,  and  said  with  gravity:  "I  did  not  know  the 
woman  was  thine.  I  will  go."  Then  he  cried  to  his 
companions,  a  mob  of  three-,  four-,  and  five-year-olds 
waiting  on  the  success  of  his  venture  ere  they  stam- 
[223] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

peded:  "  Go  back  and  eat.  It  is  our  man's  woman. 
She  will  obey  his  orders." 

Jim  collapsed  where  he  sat ;  Faiz  Ullah  and  the  two 
policemen  grinned;  and  Scott's  orders  to  the  cartmen 
flew  like  hail. 

"That  is  the  custom  of  the  Sahibs  when  truth  is 
told  in  their  presence,"  said  Faiz  Ullah.  "  The  time 
comes  that  I  must  seek  new  service.  Young  wives, 
especially  such  as  speak  our  language  and  have  know 
ledge  of  the  ways  of  the  Police,  make  great  trouble  for 
honest  butlers  in  the  matter  of  weekly  accounts." 

What  William  thought  of  it  all  she  did  not  say,  but 
when  her  brother,  ten  days  later,  came  to  camp  for 
orders,  and  heard  of  Scott's  performances,  he  said, 
laughing:  "  Well,  that  settles  it.  He  '11  be  Bakri  Scott 
to  the  end  of  his  days."  (BaJcri,  in  the  Northern 
vernacular,  means  a  goat.)  "  What  a  lark!  I  'd  have 
given  a  month's  pay  to  have  seen  him  nursing  famine 
babies.  I  fed  some  with  conjee  [rice-water],  but  that 
was  all  right." 

"It  's  perfectly  disgusting,"  said  his  sister,  with 
blazing  eyes.  "  A  man  does  something  like— like  that 
—and  all  you  other  men  think  of  is  to  give  him  an 
absurd  nickname,  and  then  you  laugh  and  think  it  's 
funny." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Jim,  sympathetically. 

4  *  Well,  you  can't  talk,  William.  You  christened  little 
Miss  Demby  the  Button-quail,  last  cold  weather;  you 
know  you  did.  India  's  the  land  of  nicknames." 

"  That 's  different, ' '  William  replied.  ' '  She  was  only 
a  girl,  and  she  had  n't  done  anything  except  walk  like 
[224] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

a  quail,  and  she  does.  But  it  is  n't  fair  to  make  fun  of 
a  man." 

"  Scott  won't  care,"  said  Martyn.  "  You  can't  get 
a  rise  out  of  old  Scotty.  I  've  been  trying  for  eight 
years,  and  you  've  only  known  him  for  three.  How 
does  he  look?" 

"  He  looks  very  well,"  said  William,  and  went  away 
with  a  flushed  cheek.  "  BaJcri  Scott,  indeed!  "  Then 
she  laughed  to  herself,  for  she  knew  her  country.  ' '  But 
it  will  be  BaJcri  all  the  same ' ' ;  and  she  repeated  it  under 
her  breath  several  times  slowly,  whispering  it  into 
favour. 

When  he  returned  to  his  duties  on  the  railway,  Mar 
tyn  spread  the  name  far  and  wide  among  his  associates, 
so  that  Scott  met  it  as  he  led  his  paddy-carts  to  war. 
The  natives  believed  it  to  be  some  English  title  of  honour, 
and  the  cart-drivers  used  it  in  all  simplicity  till  Faiz 
Ullah,  who  did  not  approve  of  foreign  japes,  broke  their 
heads.  There  was  very  little  time  for  milking  now, 
except  at  the  big  camps,  where  Jim  had  extended  Scott's 
idea  and  was  feeding  large  flocks  on  the  useless  northern 
grains.  Sufficient  paddy  had  come  now  into  the  Eight 
Districts  to  hold  the  people  safe,  if  it  were  only  dis 
tributed  quickly,  and  for  that  purpose  no  one  was  better 
than  the  big  Canal  officer,  who  never  lost  his  temper, 
never  gave  an  unnecessary  order,  and  never  questioned 
an  order  given.  Scott  pressed  on,  saving  his  cattle, 
washing  their  galled  necks  daily,  so  that  no  time  should 
be  lost  on  the  road ;  reported  himself  with  his  rice  at  the 
minor  famine-sheds,  unloaded,  and  went  back  light  by 
forced  night-march  to  the  next  distributing  centre,  to 
[225] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

find  Hawkins's  unvarying  telegram:  "Do  it  again." 
And  he  did  it  again  and  again,  and  yet  again,  while  Jim 
Hawkins,  fifty  miles  away,  marked  off  on  a  big  map  the 
tracks  of  his  wheels  gridironing  the  stricken  lands. 
Others  did  well— Hawkins  reported  at  the  end  they  all 
did  well— but  Scott  was  the  most  excellent,  for  he  kept 
good  coined  rupees  by  him,  settled  for  his  own  cart- 
repairs  on  the  spot,  and  ran  to  meet  all  sorts  of  uncon- 
sidered  extras,  trusting  to  be  recouped  later  on.  Theo 
retically,  the  Government  should  have  paid  for  every 
shoe  and  linchpin,  for  every  hand  employed  in  the  load 
ing  ;  but  Government  vouchers  cash  themselves  slowly, 
and  intelligent  and  efficient  clerks  write  at  great  length, 
contesting  unauthorised  expenditures  of  eight  annas. 
The  man  who  wants  to  make  his  work  a  success  must 
draw  on  his  own  bank- account  of  money  or  other 
things  as  he  goes. 

"  I  told  you  he  'd  work,"  said  Jimmy  to  his  wife,  at 
the  end  of  six  weeks.  "  He  's  been  in  sole  charge  of  a 
couple  of  thousand  men  up  north,  on  the  Mosuhl  Canal, 
for  a  year ;  but  he  gives  less  trouble  than  young  Martyn 
with  his  ten  constables;  and  I  'm  morally  certain— only 
Government  does  n't  recognise  moral  obligations— he  's 
spent  about  half  his  pay  to  grease  his  wheels.  Look  at 
this,  Lizzie,  for  one  week's  work!  Forty  miles  in  two 
days  with  twelve  carts;  two  days'  halt  building  a 
famine-shed  for  young  Rogers.  (Rogers  ought  to  have 
built  it  himself,  the  idiot!)  Then  forty  miles  back 
again,  loading  six  carts  on  the  way,  and  distributing  all 
Sunday.  Then  in  the  evening  he  pitches  in  a  twenty- 
page  Demi-Official  to  me,  saying  the  people  where  he  is 
[226] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

might  be  '  advantageously  employed  on  relief -work,' 
and  suggesting  that  he  put  'em  to  work  on  some  broken- 
down  old  reservoir  he  's  discovered,  so  as  to  have  a 
good  water-supply  when  the  Rains  break.  'Thinks  he 
can  cauk  the  dam  in  a  fortnight.  Look  at  his  mar 
ginal  sketches— are  n't  they  clear  and  good?  I  knew 
he  was  pukka,  but  I  did  n't  know  he  was  as  pukka  as 
this." 

"I  must  show  these  to  William,"  said  Mrs.  Jim. 
"  The  child  's  wearing  herself  out  among  the  babies." 

"  Not  more  than  you  are,  dear.  Well,  another  two 
months  ought  to  see  us  out  of  the  wood.  I  'm  sorry 
it  's  not  in  my  power  to  recommend  you  for  a  V.  C." 

William  sat  late  in  her  tent  that  night,  reading  through 
page  after  page  of  the  square  handwriting,  patting  the 
sketches  of  proposed  repairs  to  the  reservoir,  and  wrin 
kling  her  eyebrows  over  the  columns  of  figures  of  esti 
mated  water-supply. 

"  And  he  finds  time  to  do  all  this,"  she  cried  to  her 
self,  u  and— well,  I  also  was  present.  I  've  saved  one 
or  two  babies." 

She  dreamed  for  the  twentieth  time  of  the  god  in  the 
golden  dust,  and  woke  refreshed  to  feed  loathsome  black 
children,  scores  of  them,  wastrels  picked  up  by  the 
wayside,  their  bones  almost  breaking  their  skin,  terri 
ble  and  covered  with  sores. 

Scott  was  not  allowed  to  leave  his  cart-work,  but  his 
letter  was  duly  forwarded  to  the  Government,  and  he 
had  the  consolation,  not  rare  in  India,  of  knowing  that 
another  man  was  reaping  where  he  had  sown.  That 
also  was  discipline  profitable  to  the  soul. 
[227] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"He  's  much  too  good  to  waste  on  canals,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  Any  one  can  oversee  coolies.  You  need  n't 
be  angry,  William;  he  can— but  I  need  my  pearl  among 
bullock-drivers,  and  I '  ve  transferred  him  to  the  Khanda 
district,  where  he  '11  have  it  all  to  do  over  again.  He 
should  be  marching  now." 

"He  's  not  a  coolie,"  said  William,  furiously.  "  He 
ought  to  be  doing  his  regulation  work." 

"He  's  the  best  man  in  his  service,  and  that  's  say 
ing  a  good  deal;  but  if  you  must  use  razors  to  cut 
grindstones,  why,  I  prefer  the  best  cutlery." 

"  Is  n't  it  almost  time  we  saw  him  again? "  said  Mrs. 
Jim.  "  I  'm  sure  the  poor  boy  has  n't  had  a  respectable 
meal  for  a  month.  He  probably  sits  on  a  cart  and  eats 
sardines  with  his  fingers." 

"All  in  good  time,  dear.  Duty  before  decency— 
was  n't  it  Mr.  Chucks  said  that? " 

"No;  it  was  Midshipman  Easy,"  William  laughed. 
"  I  sometimes  wonder  how  it  will  feel  to  dance  or  lis 
ten  to  a  band  again,  or  sit  under  a  roof.  I  can't  believe 
I  ever  wore  a  ball-frock  in  my  life." 

"  One  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Jim,  who  was  thinking. 
"  If  he  goes  to  Khanda,  he  passes  within  five  miles  of 
us.  Of  course  he  '11  ride  in." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't,"  said  William. 

"  How  do  you  know,  dear?  " 

*  *  It  will  take  him  off  his  work .    He  won '  t  have  tune . ' ' 

"  He  '11  make  it,"  said  Mrs.  Jim,  with  a  twinkle. 

"  It  depends  on  his  own  judgment.  There  's  abso 
lutely  no  reason  why  he  should  n't,  if  he  thinks  fit," 
said  Jim. 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  He  won't  see  fit,"  William  replied,  without  sorrow 
or  emotion.  "  It  would  n't  be  him  if  he  did." 

"  One  certainly  gets  to  know  people  rather  well  in 
times  like  these,"  said  Jim,  drily;  but  William's  face 
was  serene  as  ever,  and  even  as  she  prophesied,  Scott 
did  not  appear. 

The  Rains  fell  at  last,  late,  but  heavily ;  and  the  dry, 
gashed  earth  was  red  mud,  and  servants  killed  snakes 
in  the  camp,  where  every  one  was  weather-bound  for 
a  fortnight— all  except  Hawkins,  who  took  horse  and 
plashed  about  in  the  wet,  rejoicing.  Now  the  Govern 
ment  decreed  that  seed-grain  should  be  distributed  to 
the  people,  as  well  as  advances  of  money  for  the  pur 
chase  of  new  oxen;  and  the  white  men  were  doubly 
worked  for  this  new  duty,  while  William  skipped  from 
brick  to  brick  laid  down  on  the  trampled  mud,  and 
dosed  her  charges  with  warming  medicines  that  made 
them  rub  their  little  round  stomachs;  and  the  milch 
goats  throve  on  the  rank  grass.  There  was  never  a 
word  from  Scott  in  the  Khanda  district,  away  to  the 
southeast,  except  the  regular  telegraphic  report  to  Haw 
kins.  The  rude  country  roads  had  disappeared;  his 
drivers  were  half  mutinous;  one  of  Martyn's  loaned 
policemen  had  died  of  cholera;  and  Scott  was  taking 
thirty  grains  of  quinine  a  day  to  fight  the  fever  that 
comes  with  the  rain:  but  those  were  things  Scott  did 
not  consider  necessary  to  report.  He  was,  as  usual, 
working  from  a  base  of  supplies  on  a  railway  line,  to 
cover  a  circle  of  fifteen  miles  radius,  and  since  full 
loads  were  impossible,  he  took  quarter-loads,  and  toiled 
four  tunes  as  hard  by  consequence ;  for  he  did  not  choose 
[229] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

to  risk  an  epidemic  which  might  have  grown  uncontrol 
lable  by  assembling  villagers  in  thousands  at  the  relief - 
sheds.  It  was  cheaper  to  take  Government  bullocks, 
work  them  to  death,  and  leave  them  to  the  crows  in  the 
wayside  sloughs. 

That  was  the  time  when  eight  years  of  clean  living 
and  hard  condition  told,  though  a  man's  head  were 
ringing  like  a  bell  from  the  cinchona,  and  the  earth 
swayed  under  his  feet  when  he  stood  and  under  his  bed 
when  he  slept.  If  Hawkins  had  seen  fit  to  make  him  a 
bullock-driver,  that,  he  thought,  was  entirely  Hawkins's 
own  affair.  There  were  men  in  the  North  who  would 
know  what  he  had  done ;  men  of  thirty  years'  service 
in  his  own  department  who  would  say  that  it  was ' '  not 
half  bad";  and  above,  immeasurably  above,  all  men  of 
all  grades,  there  was  William  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
who  would  approve  because  she  understood.  He  had 
so  trained  his  mind  that  it  would  hold  fast  to  the 
mechanical  routine  of  the  day,  though  his  own  voice 
sounded  strange  in  his  own  ears,  and  his  hands,  when 
he  wrote,  grew  large  as  pillows  or  small  as  peas  at  the 
end  of  his  wrists.  That  steadfastness  bore  his  body  to 
the  telegraph-office  at  the  rail  way- station,  and  dictated 
a  telegram  to  Hawkins  saying  that  the  Khanda  district 
was,  in  his  judgment,  now  safe,  and  he  "  waited  fur 
ther  orders." 

The  Madrassee  telegraph-clerk  did  not  approve  of  a 
large,  gaunt  man  falling  over  him  in  a  dead  faint,  not 
so  much  because  of  the  weight  as  because  of  the  names 
and  blows  that  Faiz  Ullah  dealt  him  when  he  found 
the  body  rolled  under  a  bench.  Then  Faiz  Ullah  took 
[230] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

blankets,  quilts,  and  coverlets  where  he  found  them, 
and  lay  down  under  them  at  his  master's  side,  and 
bound  his  arms  with  a  tent-rope,  and  filled  him 
with  a  horrible  stew  of  herbs,  and  set  the  policeman  to 
fight  him  when  he  wished  to  escape  from  the  intoler 
able  heat  of  his  coverings,  and  shut  the  door  of  the 
telegraph-office  to  keep  out  the  curious  for  two  nights 
and  one  day ;  and  when  a  light  engine  came  down  the 
line,  and  Hawkins  kicked  in  the  door,  Scott  hailed  him 
weakly  but  in  a  natural  voice,  and  Faiz  Ullah  stood 
back  and  took  all  the  credit. 

"  For  two  nights,  Heaven-born,  he  was  pagal,"  said 
Faiz  Ullah.  "  Look  at  my  nose,  and  consider  the  eye 
of  the  policeman.  He  beat  us  with  his  bound  hands; 
but  we  sat  upon  him,  Heaven-born,  and  though  his 
words  were  tez,  we  sweated  him.  Heaven-born,  never 
has  been  such  a  sweat !  He  is  weaker  now  than  a  child ; 
but  the  fever  has  gone  out  of  him,  by  the  grace  of  God. 
There  remains  only  my  nose  and  the  eye  of  the  consta- 
beel.  Sahib,  shall  I  ask  for  my  dismissal  because  my 
Sahib  has  beaten  me  ? "  And  Faiz  Ullah  laid  his  long  thin 
hand  carefully  on  Scott's  chest  to  be  sure  that  the  fever 
was  all  gone,  ere  he  went  out  to  open  tinned  soups  and 
discourage  such  as  laughed  at  his  swelled  nose. 

"The  district  's  all  right,"  Scott  whispered.  "It 
does  n't  make  any  difference.  You  got  my  wire?  I 
shall  be  fit  in  a  week.  'Can't  understand  how  it  hap 
pened.  I  shall  be  fit  in  a  few  days." 

"  You  're  coming  into  camp  with  us,"  said  Hawkins. 

"  But  look  here-but-" 

"  It  's  all  over  except  the  shouting.  We  sha'n't  need 
[231] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROK 

you  Punjabis  any  more.  On  my  honour,  we  sha'n't. 
Marty n  goes  back  in  a  few  weeks;  Arbuthnot  's 
returned  already;  Ellis  and  Clay  are  putting  the  last 
touches  to  a  new  feeder-line  the  Government 's  built  as 
relief-work.  Morten  's  dead— he  was  a  Bengal  man. 
thougl ;  you  would  n't  know  him.  'Pon  my  word,  you 
and  Will— Miss  Martyn— seem  to  have  come  through 
it  as  well  as  anybody." 

"  Oh,  how  is  she,  by-the-way? "  The  voice  went  up 
and  down  as  he  spoke. 

* '  Going  strong  when  I  left  her.  The  Roman  Catholic 
Missions  are  adopting  the  unclaimed  babies  to  turn  them 
into  little  priests;  the  Basil  Mission  is  taking  some, 
and  the  mothers  are  taking  the  rest.  You  should  hear 
the  little  beggars  howl  when  they  're  sent  away  from 
William.  She  's  pulled  down  a  bit,  but  so  are  we  all. 
Now,  when  do  you  suppose  you  '11  be  able  to  move? " 

u  I  can't  come  into  camp  in  this  state.  I  won't,"  he 
replied  pettishly. 

"  Well,  you  are  rather  a  sight,  but  from  what  I  gath 
ered  there  it  seemed  to  me  they  'd  be  glad  to  see  you 
under  any  conditions.  I  '11  look  over  your  work  here, 
if  you  like,  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  you  can  pull  your 
self  together  while  Faiz  Ullah  feeds  you  up." 

Scott  could  walk  dizzily  by  the  time  Hawkins's  in 
spection  was  ended,  and  he  flushed  all  over  when  Jim 
said  of  his  work  that  it  was  "  not  half  bad,"  and  vol 
unteered,  further,  that  he  had  considered  Scott  his 
right-hand  man  through  the  famine,  and  would  feel 
it  his  duty  to  say  as  much  officially. 

So  they  came  back  by  rail  to  the  old  camp;  but  there 
[232] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

were  no  crowds  near  it ;  the  long  fires  in  the  trenches 
were  dead  and  black,  and  the  famine-sheds  were  al 
most  empty. 

"  You  see!  "  said  Jim.  "  There  is  n't  much  more  to 
do.  'Better  ride  up  and  see  the  wife.  They  ' ve  pitched 
a  tent  for  you.  Dinner  's  at  seven.  I  've  some  work 
here. ' ' 

Riding  at  a  foot-pace,  Faiz  Ullah  by  his  stirrup,  Scott 
came  to  William  in  the  brown-calico  riding-habit,  sitting 
at  the  dining-tent  door,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  white  as 
ashes,  thin  and  worn,  with  no  lustre  in  her  hair.  There 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  Mrs.  Jim  on  the  horizon,  and  all 
that  William  could  say  was  :  u  My  word,  how  pulled 
down  you  look!  " 

"  I  've  had  a  touch  of  fever.  You  don't  look  very 
well  yourself." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  fit  enough.  We 've  stamped  it  out.  I  sup 
pose  you  know?" 

Scott  nodded.  "  We  shall  all  be  returned  in  a  few 
weeks.  Hawkins  told  me. " 

"Before  Christmas,  Mrs.  Jim  says.  Sha'n't  you 
be  glad  to  go  back?  I  can  smell  the  wood-smoke  al 
ready  " ;  William  sniffed.  "  We  shall  be  in  time  for  all 
the  Christmas  doings.  I  don't  suppose  even  the  Pun 
jab  Government  would  be  base  enough  to  transfer  Jack 
till  the  new  year?  " 

"  It  seems  hundreds  of  years  ago— the  Punjab  and  all 
that— does  n't  it?  Are  you  glad  you  came? " 

"  Now  it  's  all  over,  yes.     It  has  been  ghastly  here, 
though.    You  know  we  had  to  sit  still  and  do  nothing, 
and  Sir  Jim  was  away  so  much." 
[233] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"  Do  nothing!  How  did  you  get  on  with  the  milk 
ing?" 

' 4 1  managed  it  somehow— after  you  taught  me.  'Re 
member?  " 

Then  the  talk  stopped  with  an  almost  audible  jar. 
Still  no  Mrs.  Jim. 

"  That  reminds  me,  I  owe  you  fifty  rupees  for  the 
condensed  milk.  I  thought  perhaps  you  'd  be  coming 
here  when  you  were  transferred  to  the  Khanda  district, 
and  I  could  pay  you  then;  but  you  did  n't." 

"  I  passed  within  five  miles  of  the  camp,  but  it  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  march,  you  see,  and  the  carts  were 
breaking  down  every  few  minutes,  and  I  could  n't  get 
'em  over  the  ground  till  ten  o'clock  that  night.  I 
wanted  to  come  awfully.  You  knew  I  did,  did  n't  you  ? ' ' 

"  I— believe— I— did,"  said  William,  facing  him  with 
level  eyes.  She  was  no  longer  white. 

"Did  you  understand? " 

"  Why  you  did  n't  ride  in?    Of  course  I  did." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  could  n't,  of  course.     I  knew  that." 

"Did  you  care?" 

"  If  you  had  come  in— but  I  knew  you  would  n't— 
but  if  you  had,  I  should  have  cared  a  great  deal.  You 
know  I  should. ' ' 

"Thank  God  I  did  n't!  Oh,  but  I  wanted  to!  I 
could  n't  trust  myself  to  ride  in  front  of  the  carts,  be 
cause  I  kept  edging  'em  over  here,  don't  you  know? " 

"  I  knew  you  would  n't,"  said  William,  contentedly. 
"Here  's  your  fifty." 

Scott  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  hand  that  held  the 
[234] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

greasy  notes.  Its  fellow  patted  him  awkwardly  but 
very  tenderly  on  the  head. 

"  And  you  knew,  too,  did  n't  you?  "  said  William,  in  a 
new  voice. 

"  No,  on  my  honour,  I  did  n't.  I  had  n't  the— the 
cheek  to  expect  anything  of  the  kind,  except  ...  I 
say,  were  you  out  riding  anywhere  the  day  I  passed 
by  to  Khanda?" 

William  nodded,  and  smiled  after  the  manner  of  an 
angel  surprised  in  a  good  deed. 

"  Then  it  was  just  a  speck  I  saw  of  your  habit  in 
the-" 

'  *  Palm-grove  on  the  Southern  cart-road.  I  saw  your 
helmet  when  you  came  up  from  the  nullah  by  the  tem 
ple—just  enough  to  be  sure  that  you  were  all  right. 
D'  you  care?" 

This  time  Scott  did  not  kiss  her  hand,  for  they  were 
in  the  dusk  of  the  dining-tent,  and,  because  William's 
knees  were  trembling  under  her,  she  had  to  sit  down  in 
the  nearest  chair,  where  she  wept  long  and  happily,  her 
head  on  her  arms;  and  when  Scott  imagined  that  it 
would  be  well  to  comfort  her,  she  needing  nothing  of  the 
kind,  she  ran  to  her  own  tent ;  and  Scott  went  out  into 
the  world,  and  smiled  upon  it  largely  and  idiotically. 
But  when  Faiz  Ullah  brought  him  a  drink,  he  found  it 
necessary  to  support  one  hand  with  the  other,  or  the 
good  whisky  and  soda  would  have  been  spilled  abroad. 
There  are  fevers  and  fevers. 

But  it  was  worse— much  worse— the  strained,  eye- 
shirking  talk  at  dinner  till  the  servants  had  withdrawn, 
and  worst  of  all  when  Mrs.  Jim,  who  had  been  on  the 
[235] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

edge  of  weeping  from  the  soup  down,  kissed  Scott  and 
William,  and  they  drank  one  whole  bottle  of  champagne, 
hot,  because  there  was  no  ice,  and  Scott  and  William  sat 
outside  the  tent  in  the  starlight  till  Mrs.  Jim  drove  them 
in  for  fear  of  more  fever. 

Apropos  of  these  things  and  some  others  William  said : 
41  Being  engaged  is  abominable,  because,  you  see,  one 
has  no  official  position.  We  must  be  thankful  we  've 
lots  of  things  to  do." 

"  Things  to  do!  "  said  Jim,  when  that  was  reported  to 
him.  *  *  They  're  neither  of  them  any  good  any  more.  I 
can't  get  five  hours'  work  a  day  out  of  Scott.  He  's  in 
the  clouds  half  the  time. ' ' 

"  Oh,  but  they  're  so  beautiful  to  watch,  Jimmy.  It 
will  break  my  heart  when  they  go.  Can't  you  do  any 
thing  for  him?  " 

' '  I  've  given  the  Government  the  impression— at  least, 
I  hope  I  have— that  he  personally  conducted  the  entire 
famine.  But  all  he  wants  is  to  get  on  to  the  Luni  Canal 
Works,  and  William  's  just  as  bad.  Have  you  ever 
heard  'em  talking  of  barrage  and  aprons  and  waste- 
water?  It  's  their  style  of  spooning,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Jim  smiled  tenderly.  "  Ah,  that  's  in  the  inter 
vals—bless  'em." 

And  so  Love  ran  about  the  camp  unrebuked  in  broad 
daylight,  while  men  picked  up  the  pieces  and  put  them 
neatly  away  of  the  Famine  in  the  Eight  Districts. 
********** 

Morning  brought  the  penetrating  chill  of  the  Northern 
December,  the  layers  of  wood-smoke,  the  dusty  grey- 
blue  of  the  tamarisks,  the  domes  of  ruined  tombs,  and 
[236] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

all  the  smell  of  the  white  Northern  plains,  as  the  mail- 
train  ran  on  to  the  mile-long  Sutlej  Bridge.  William, 
wrapped  in  a  poshteen—a,  silk- embroidered  sheepskin 
jacket  trimmed  with  rough  astrakhan— looked  out 
with  moist  eyes  and  nostrils  that  dilated  joyously.  The 
South  of  pagodas  and  palm-trees,  the  overpopulated 
Hindu  South,  was  done  with.  Here  was  the  land 
she  knew  and  loved,  and  before  her  lay  the  good  life 
she  understood,  among  folk  of  her  own  caste  and 
mind. 

They  were  picking  them  up  at  almost  every  station 
now— men  and  women  coming  in  for  the  Christmas 
Week,  with  racquets,  with  bundles  of  polo-sticks,  with 
dear  and  bruised  cricket-bats,  with  fox-terriers  and 
saddles.  The  greater  part  of  them  wore  jackets  like 
William's,  for  the  Northern  cold  is  as  little  to  be  trifled 
with  as  the  Northern  heat.  And  William  was  among 
them  and  of  them,  her  hands  deep  in  her  pockets,  her 
collar  turned  up  over  her  ears,  stamping  her  feet  on 
the  platforms  as  she  walked  up  and  down  to  get  warm, 
visiting  from  carriage  to  carriage  and  everywhere  being 
congratulated.  Scott  was  with  the  bachelors  at  the  far 
end  of  the  train,  where  they  chaffed  him  mercilessly 
about  feeding  babies  and  milking  goats ;  but  from  time 
to  time  he  would  stroll  up  to  William's  window,  and 
murmur:  "  Good  enough,  is  n't  it? "  and  William  would 
answer  with  sighs  of  pure  delight:  "Good  enough, 
indeed."  The  large  open  names  of  the  home  towns 
were  good  to  listen  to.  Umballa,  Ludianah,  Phillour, 
Jullundur,  they  rang  like  the  coming  marriage-bells  in 
her  ears,  and  William  felt  deeply  and  truly  sorry  for  all 
[237] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

strangers  and  outsiders— visitors,  tourists,  and  those 
fresh-caught  for  the  service  of  the  country. 

It  was  a  glorious  return,  and  when  the  bachelors  gave 
the  Christmas  Ball,  William  was,  unofficially,  you  might 
say,  the  chief  and  honoured  guest  among  the  Stewards, 
who  could  make  things  very  pleasant  for  their  friends. 
She  and  Scott  danced  nearly  all  the  dances  together,  and 
sat  out  the  rest  in  the  big  dark  gallery  overlooking  the 
superb  teak  floor,  where  the  uniforms  blazed,  and  the 
spurs  clinked,  and  the  new  frocks  and  four  hundred 
dancers  went  round  and  round  till  the  draped  flags  on 
the  pillars  flapped  and  bellied  to  the  whirl  of  it. 

About  midnight  half  a  dozen  men  who  did  not  care 
for  dancing  came  over  from  the  Club  to  play  * '  Waits, ' ' 
and— that  was  a  surprise  the  Stewards  had  arranged— 
before  any  one  knew  what  had  happened,  the  band 
stopped,  and  hidden  voices  broke  into  "  Good  King 
Wenceslaus,"  and  William  in  the  gallery  hummed  and 
beat  time  with  her  foot : 

"  Mark  my  footsteps  well,  my  page, 

Tread  thou  in  them  boldly. 
Thou  shalt  feel  the  winter's  rage 
Freeze  thy  blood  less  coldly ! " 

* '  Oh,  I  hope  they  are  going  to  give  us  another !  Is  n't 
it  pretty,  coming  out  of  the  dark  in  that  way?  Look— 
look  down.  There  's  Mrs.  Gregory  wiping  her  eyes!  " 

"It  's  like  Home,  rather,"  said  Scott.  "I  remem 
ber-" 

4 '  Hsh !    Listen !  —dear. ' '    And  it  began  again : 

"  When  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night—  " 
"  A-h-h!  "  said  William,  drawing  closer  to  Scott. 
[238] 


WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR 

"All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  Angel  of  the  Lord  came  do"wn, 
And  glory  shone  around. 
1  Fear  not,'  said  he  (for  mighty  dread 
Had  seized  their  troubled  mind) ; 
'  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 
To  you  and  all  mankind/  " 

This  time  it  was  William  that  wiped  her  eyes. 


[239] 


.007 


.007 

A  LOCOMOTIVE  is,  next  to  a  marine  engine,  the  most 
sensitive  thing  man  ever  made;  and  No.  .007,  be 
sides  being  sensitive,  was  new.  The  red  paint  was  hard 
ly  dry  on  his  spotless  bumper-bar,  his  headlight  shone 
like  a  fireman's  helmet,  and  his  cab  might  have  been  a 
hard- wood-finish  parlour.  They  had  run  him  into  the 
round-house  after  his  trial— he  had  said  good-bye  to  his 
best  friend  in  the  shops,  the  overhead  travelling-crane— 
the  big  world  was  just  outside;  and  the  other  locos 
were  taking  stock  of  him.  He  looked  at  the  semicircle 
of  bold,  unwinking  headlights,  heard  the  low  purr  and 
mutter  of  the  steam  mounting  in  the  gauges— scornful 
hisses  of  contempt  as  a  slack  valve  lifted  a  little— and 
would  have  given  a  month's  oil  for  leave  to  crawl 
through  his  own  driving-wheels  into  the  brick  ash-pit 
beneath  him.  .007  was  an  eight- wheeled  "  American  " 
loco,  slightly  different  from  others  of  his  type,  and  as  he 
stood  he  was  worth  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the  Com 
pany's  books.  But  if  you  had  bought  him  at  his  own 
valuation,  after  half  an  hour's  waiting  in  the  darkish, 
[243] 


.007 

echoing  round-house,  you  would  have  saved  exactly 
nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  dollars 
and  ninety-eight  cents. 

A  heavy  Mogul  freight,  with  a  short  cow-catcher  and  a 
fire-box  that  came  down  within  three  inches  of  the  rail, 
began  the  impolite  game,  speaking  to  a  Pittsburgh  Con 
solidation,  who  was  visiting. 

"Where  did  this  thing  blow  in  from?"  he  asked, 
with  a  dreamy  puff  of  light  steam. 

"  It 's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  track  of  our  makes,"  was 
the  answer,  "  without  lookin'  after  your  back-numbers. 
Guess  it 's  something  Peter  Cooper  left  over  when  he 
died." 

.007  quivered;  his  steam  was  getting  up,  but  he  held 
his  tongue.  Even  a  hand-car  knows  what  sort  of  loco 
motive  it  was  that  Peter  Cooper  experimented  upon  in 
the  far-away  Thirties.  It  carried  its  coal  and  water  in 
two  apple-barrels,  and  was  not  much  bigger  than  a 
bicycle. 

Then  up  and  spoke  a  small,  newish  switching- engine, 
with  a  little  step  in  front  of  his  bumper-timber,  and  his 
wheels  so  close  together  that  he  looked  like  a  broncho 
getting  ready  to  buck. 

"  Something  's  wrong  with  the  road  when  a  Pennsyl 
vania  gravel-pusher  tells  us  anything  about  our  stock,  I 
think.  That  kid  's  all  right.  Eustis  designed  him,  and 
Eustis  designed  me.  Ain't  that  good  enough? " 

.007  could  have  carried  the  switching-loco  round  the 
yard  in  his  tender,  but  he  felt  grateful  for  even  this 
little  word  of  consolation. 

"  We  don't  use  hand-cars  on  the  Pennsylvania,"  said 
[244] 


.007 

the  Consolidation.  "  That— er— peanut-stand  's  old 
enough  and  ugly  enough  to  speak  for  himself." 

"  He  has  n't  bin  spoken  to  yet.  He  's  bin  spoke  at. 
Hain't  ye  any  manners  on  the  Pennsylvania? "  said  the 
switching-loco. 

"You  ought  to  be  in  the  yard,  Poney,"  said  the 
Mogul,  severely.  •'  We  're  all  long-haulers  here." 

"  That  's  what  you  think,"  the  little  feUow  replied. 
"  You  'll'know  more  'fore  the  night  's  out.  I  've  bin 
down  to  Track  17,  and  the  freight  there— oh,  Christmas ! ' ' 

"  I  've  trouble  enough  in  my  own  division,"  said  a 
lean,  light  suburban  loco  with  very  shiny  brake-shoes. 
"  My  commuters  would  n't  rest  till  they  got  a  parlour- 
car.  They  've  hitched  it  back  of  all,  and  it  hauls 
worse  'n  a  snow-plough.  I  '11  snap  her  off  some  day  sure, 
and  then  they  '11  blame  every  one  except  their  fool- 
selves.  They  '11  be  askin'  me  to  haul  a  vestibuled  next ! ' ' 

"  They  made  you  in  New  Jersey,  did  n't  they? "  said 
Poney.  "  Thought  so.  Commuters  and  truck- wagons 
ain't  any  sweet  haulin',  but  I  tell  you  they  're  a  heap 
better  'n  cuttin'  out  refrigerator-cars  or  oil- tanks.  Why, 
I've  hauled-" 

"Haul!  You?"  said  the  Mogul,  contemptuously. 
"  It  's  all  you  can  do  to  bunt  a  cold-storage  car  up  the 
yard.  Now,  I—"  he  paused  a  little  to  let  the  words 
sink  in— "I  handle  the  Flying  Freight— e-leven  cars 
worth  just  anything  you  please  to  mention.  On  the 
stroke  of  eleven  I  pull  out;  and  I  'm  timed  for  thirty- 
five  an  hour.  Costly— perishable— fragile— immediate 
—that  's  me!  Suburban  traffic  's  only  but  one  degree 
better  than  switching.  Express  freight  's  what  pays." 
[245] 


.007 

"  Well,  I  ain't  given  to  blowing,  as  a  rule,"  began  the 
Pittsburgh  Consolidation. 

"No?  You  was  sent  in  here  because  you  grunted  on 
the  grade,"  Poney  interrupted. 

"Where  I  grunt,  you  'd  lie  down,  Poney:  but,  as  I 
was  saying,  I  don't  blow  much.  Notwithstanding  if 
you  want  to  see  freight  that  is  freight  moved  lively,  you 
should  see  me  warbling  through  the  Alleghanies  with 
thirty-seven  ore-cars  behind  me,  and  my  brakemen 
fightin'  tramps  so  's  they  can't  attend  to  my  tooter.  I 
have  to  do  all  the  holdin'  back  then,  and,  though  I  say 
it,  I  've  never  had  a  load  get  away  from  me  yet.  No, 
sir.  Haulin'  's  one  thing,  but  judgment  and  discretion 's 
another.  You  want  judgment  in  my  business." 

"  Ah!  But— but  are  you  not  paralysed  by  a  sense  of 
your  overwhelming  responsibilities?"  said  a  curious, 
husky  voice  from  a  corner. 

* '  Who '  s  that  ? " .  007  whispered  to  the  Jersey  commuter. 

4 '  Compound— experiment— N.  G.  She 's  bin  switchin' 
in  the  B.  &  A.  yards  for  six  months,  when  she  was  n't 
in  the  shops.  She  's  economical  (I  call  it  mean)  in  her 
coal,  but  she  takes  it  out  in  repairs.  Ahem !  I  presume 
you  found  Boston  somewhat  isolated,  madam,  after 
your  New  York  season?" 

"  I  am  never  so  well  occupied  as  when  I  am  alone." 
The  Compound  seemed  to  be  talking  from  half-way  up 
her  smoke-stack. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  irreverent  Poney,  under  his  breath. 
"  They  don't  hanker  after  her  any  in  the  yard." 

"  But,  with  my  constitution  and  temperament— my 
work  lies  in  Boston— I  find  your  outrecuidance—" 
[246] 


.007 

•'Outer  which?"  said  the  Mogul  freight.  "Simple 
cylinders  are  good  enough  for  me.'' 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  said  faroucherie, "  hissed  the 
Compound. 

' '  I  don't  hold  with  any  make  of  papier-mach6  wheel, ' ' 
the  Mogul  insisted. 

The  Compound  sighed  pityingly,  and  said  no  more. 

"  Git  'em  all  shapes  in  this  world,  don't  ye?"  said 
Poney.  "  That  's  Mass'chusetts  all  over.  They  half 
start,  an'  then  they  stick  on  a  dead-centre,  an'  blame  it 
all  on  other  folk's  ways  o'  treatin'  them.  Talkin'  o' 
Boston,  Comanche  told  me,  last  night,  he  had  a  hot-box 
just  beyond  the  Newtons,  Friday.  That  was  why,  he 
says,  the  Accommodation  was  held  up.  Made  out  no 
end  of  a  tale,  Comanche  did." 

"  If  I  'd  heard  that  in  the  shops,  with  my  boiler  out 
for  repairs,  I  'd  know  't  was  one  o'  Comanche's  lies," 
the  New  Jersey  commuter  snapped.  ' '  Hot-box !  Him ! 
What  happened  was  they  'd  put  an  extra  car  on,  and 
he  just  lay  down  on  the  grade  and  squealed.  They  had 
to  send  127  to  help  him  through.  Made  it  out  a  hot- 
box,  did  he?  Time  before  that  he  said  he  was  ditched! 
Looked  me  square  in  the  headlight  and  told  me  that  as 
cool  as— as  a  water-tank  in  a  cold  wave.  Hot-box! 
You  ask  127  about  Comanche's  hot-box.  Why,  Co 
manche  he  was  side-tracked,  and  127  (he  was  just  about 
as  mad  as  they  make  'em  on  account  o'  being  called  out 
at  ten  o'clock  at  night)  took  hold  and  snapped  her  into 
Boston  in  seventeen  minutes.  Hot-box!  Hot  fraud! 
That  's  what  Comanche  is." 

Then  .007  put  both  drivers  and  his  pilot  into  it,  as  the 
[247] 


.007 

saying  is,  for  he  asked  what  sort  of  thing  a  hot-box 
might  be? 

"  Paint  my  bell  sky-blue!  "  said  Poney,  the  switcher. 
* '  Make  me  a  surface-railroad  loco  with  a  hard- wood 
skirtin' -board  round  my  wheels.  Break  me  up  and  cast 
me  into  five-cent  side  walk -fakirs'  mechanical  toys! 
Here  's  an  eight- wheel  coupled  '  American '  don't  know 
what  a  hot-box  is !  Never  heard  of  an  emergency-stop 
either,  did  ye?  Don't  know  what  ye  carry  jack-screws 
for?  You  're  too  innocent  to  be  left  alone  with  your 
own  tender.  Oh,  you— you  flat-car!  " 

There  was  a  roar  of  escaping  steam  before  any  one 
could  answer,  and  .007  nearly  blistered  his  paint  off 
with  pure  mortification. 

"A  hot-box,"  began  the  Compound,  picking  and 
choosing  her  words  as  though  they  were  coal,  "a  hot- 
box  is  the  penalty  exacted  from  inexperience  by  haste. 
Ahem!" 

"  Hot-box!  "  said  the  Jersey  Suburban.  "  It  's  the 
price  you  pay  for  going  on  the  tear.  It 's  years  since 
I  've  had  one.  It  's  a  disease  that  don't  attack  short- 
haulers,  as  a  rule." 

"We  never  have  hot-boxes  on  the  Pennsylvania," 
said  the  Consolidation.  "  They  get  'em  in  New  York- 
same  as  nervous  prostration." 

"Ah,  go  home  on  a  ferry-boat,"  said  the  Mogul. 
"You  think  because  you  use  worse  grades  than  our 
road  'u'd  allow,  you  're  a  kind  of  Alleghany  angel. 
Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  .  .  .  Here  's  my  folk. 
Well,  I  can't  stop.  See  you  later,  perhaps." 

He  rolled  forward  majestically  to  the  turn-table,  and 
[248] 


.007 

swung  like  a  man-of-war  in  a  tideway,  till  he  picked 
up  his  track.  ' '  But  as  for  you,  you  pea-green  swivelin' 
coffee-pot  (this  to  .007),  you  go  out  and  learn  something 
before  you  associate  with  those  who  've  made  more 
mileage  in  a  week  than  you  '11  roll  up  in  a  year. 
Costly—perishable— fragile— immediate— that  's  me! 
S'  long." 

"  Split  my  tubes  if  that  's  actin'  polite  to  a  new  mem 
ber  o'  the  Brotherhood,"  said  Poney.  "  There  was  n't 
any  call  to  trample  on  ye  like  that.  But  manners  was 
left  out  when  Moguls  was  made.  Keep  up  your  fire, 
kid,  an'  burn  your  own  smoke.  'Guess  we  '11  all  be 
wanted  in  a  minute." 

Men  were  talking  rather  excitedly  in  the  round 
house.  One  man,  in  a  dingy  jersey,  said  that  he  had  n't 
any  locomotives  to  waste  on  the  yard.  Another  man, 
with  a  piece  of  crumpled  paper  in  his  hand,  said  that 
the  yard-master  said  that  he  was  to  say  that  if  the  other 
man  said  anything,  he  (the  other  man)  was  to  shut  his 
head.  Then  the  other  man  waved  his  arms,  and  wanted 
to  know  if  he  was  expected  to  keep  locomotives  in  his 
hip-pocket.  Then  a  man  in  a  black  Prince  Albert, 
without  a  collar,  came  up  dripping,  for  it  was  a  hot 
August  night,  and  said  that  what  he  said  went;  and 
between  the  three  of  them  the  locomotives  began  to 
go,  too— first  the  Compound;  then  the  Consolidation; 
then  .007. 

Now,  deep  down  in  his  fire-box,  .007  had  cherished  a 

hope  that  as  soon  as  his  trial  was  done,  he  would  be  led 

forth  with  songs  and  shoutings,  and  attached  to  a  green- 

and-chocolate  vestibuled  flyer,  under  charge  of  a  bold 

[249] 


.007 

and  noble  engineer,  who  would  pat  him.  on  his  back, 
and  weep  over  him,  and  call  him  his  Arab  steed.  (The 
boys  in  the  shops  where  he  was  built  used  to  read  won 
derful  stories  of  railroad  life,  and  .007  expected  things 
to  happen  as  he  had  heard.)  But  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  many  vestibuled  fliers  in  the  roaring,  rumbling, 
electric-lighted  yards,  and  his  engineer  only  said : 

"Now,  what  sort  of  a  fool-sort  of  an  injector  has 
Eustis  loaded  on  to  this  rig  this  time? ' '  And  he  put  the 
lever  over  with  an  angry  snap,  crying:  "Am  I  sup 
posed  to  switch  with  this  thing,  hey?" 

The  collarless  man  mopped  his  head,  and  replied  that, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  yard  and  freight  and  a  few 
other  things,  the  engineer  would  switch  and  keep  on 
switching  till  the  cows  came  home.  .007  pushed  out 
gingerly,  his  heart  in  his  headlight,  so  nervous  that  the 
clang  of  his  own  bell  almost  made  him  jump  the  track. 
Lanterns  waved,  or  danced  up  and  down,  before  and  be 
hind  him;  and  on  every  side,  six  tracks  deep,  sliding 
backward  and  forward,  with  clashings  of  couplers  and 
squeals  of  hand-brakes,  were  cars— more  cars  than  .007 
had  dreamed  of.  There  were  oil-cars,  and  hay-cars,  and 
stock-cars  full  of  lowing  beasts,  and  ore-cars,  and 
potato-cars  with  stovepipe-ends  sticking  out  in  the  mid 
dle;  cold-storage  and  refrigerator  cars  dripping  ice- 
water  on  the  tracks;  ventilated  fruit-  and  milk-cars ;  flat- 
cars  with  truck- wagons  full  of  market-stuff;  flat-cars 
loaded  with  reapers  and  binders,  all  red  and  green  and 
gilt  under  the  sizzling  electric  lights ;  flat-cars  piled  high 
with  strong-scented  hides,  pleasant  hemlock-plank,  or 
bundles  of  shingles;  flat-cars  creaking  to  the  weight 
[250] 


.007 

of  thirty-ton  castings,  angle-irons,  and  rivet-boxes  for 
some  new  bridge;  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  and  hun 
dreds  of  box-cars  loaded,  locked,  and  chalked.  Men- 
hot  and  angry— crawled  among  and  between  and  under 
the  thousand  wheels;  men  took  flying  jumps  through 
his  cab,  when  he  halted  for  a  moment;  men  sat  on  his 
pilot  as  he  went  forward,  and  on  his  tender  as  he  re 
turned  ;  and  regiments  of  men  ran  along  the  tops  of  the 
box-cars  beside  him,  screwing  down  brakes,  waving 
their  arms,  and  crying  curious  things. 

He  was  pushed  forward  a  foot  at  a  time ;  whirled  back 
ward,  his  rear  drivers  clinking  and  clanking,  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile;  jerked  into  a  switch  (yard-switches  are 
very  stubby  and  unaccommodating),  bunted  into  a  Red 
D,  or  Merchant's  Transport  car,  and,  with  no  hint  or 
knowledge  of  the  weight  behind  him,  started  up  anew. 
When  his  load  was  fairly  on  the  move,  three  or  four  cars 
would  be  cut  off,  and  .007  would  bound  forward,  only 
to  be  held  hiccupping  on  the  brake.  Then  he  would  wait 
a  few  minutes,  watching  the  whirled  lanterns,  deafened 
with  the  clang  of  the  bells,  giddy  with  the  vision  of  the 
sliding  cars,  his  brake-pump  panting  forty  to  the  minute, 
his  front  coupler  lying  sideways  on  his  cow-catcher,  like 
a  tired  dog's  tongue  in  his  mouth,  and  the  whole  of  him 
covered  with  half -burnt  coal-dust. 

u  'T  is  n't  so  easy  switching  with  a  straight-backed 
tender, ' '  said  his  little  friend  of  the  round-house,  bus 
tling  by  at  a  trot.  "  But  you  're  comin'  on  pretty  fair. 
'Ever  seen  a  fly  in'  switch?  No?  Then  watch  me." 

Poney  was  in  charge  of  a  dozen  heavy  flat-cars.  Sud 
denly  he  shot  away  from  them  with  a  sharp  "  Whutt  / " 
[251] 


.007 

A  switch  opened  in  the  shadows  ahead;  he  turned  up 
it  like  a  rabbit  as  it  snapped  behind  him,  and  the  long 
line  of  twelve-foot-high  lumber  jolted  on  into  the  arms 
of  a  full-sized  road-loco,  who  acknowledged  receipt 
with  a  dry  howl. 

"  My  man  's  reckoned  the  smartest  in  the  yard  at  that 
trick,"  he  said,  returning.  "  Gives  me  cold  shivers 
when  another  fool  tries  it,  though.  That  's  where  my 
short  wheel-base  comes  in.  Like  as  not  you  'd  have 
your  tender  scraped  off  if  you  tried  it." 

.007  had  no  ambitions  that  way,  and  said  so. 

"No?  Of  course  this  ain't  your  regular  business,  but 
say,  don't  you  think  it  's  interestin'?  Have  you  seen 
the  yard-master?  Well,  he  's  the  greatest  man  on  earth, 
an'  don't  you  forget  it.  When  are  we  through?  Why, 
kid,  it  's  always  like  this,  day  ari  night— Sundays  an' 
week-days.  See  that  thirty-car  freight  slidin'  in  four, 
no,  five  tracks  off?  She  's  all  mixed  freight,  sent  here 
to  be  sorted  out  into  straight  trains.  That 's  why  we  're 
cuttin'  out  the  cars  one  by  one."  He  gave  a  vigorous 
push  to  a  west-bound  car  as  he  spoke,  and  started  back 
with  a  little  snort  of  surprise,  for  the  car  was  an  old 
friend— an  M.  T.  K.  box-car. 

"Jack  my  drivers,  but  it  's  Homeless  Kate!  Why, 
Kate,  ain't  there  no  gettin'  you  back  to  your  friends? 
There  's  forty  chasers  out  for  you  from  your  road,  if 
there  's  one.  Who  's  holdin'  you  now?  " 

"Wish  I   knew,"   whimpered  Homeless  Kate.     "I 

belong  in  Topeka,  but  I  've  bin  to  Cedar  Rapids;  I  've 

bin  to  Winnipeg;  I  've  bin  to  Newport  News;  I  've  bin 

all  down  the  old  Atlanta  and  West  Point;  an'  I  've  bin 

[252] 


.007 

to  Buffalo.  Maybe  I  '11  fetch  up  at  Haverstraw.  I  've 
only  bin  out  ten  months,  but  I  'm  homesick— I  'm  just 
achin'  homesick." 

"Try  Chicago,  Katie, "said  the  switching-loco;  and 
the  battered  old  car  lumbered  down  the  track,  jolting : 
"  I  want  to  be  in  Kansas  when  the  sunflowers  bloom." 

"  'Yard  's  full  o'  Homeless  Kates  an'  Wanderin' 
Willies,"  he  explained  to  .007.  "  I  knew  an  old  Fitch- 
burg  flat-car  out  seventeen  months;  an'  one  of  ours  was 
gone  fifteen  'fore  ever  we  got  track  of  her.  Dunno 
quite  how  our  men  fix  it.  'Swap  around,  I  guess. 
Anyway,  I  've  done  my  duty.  She  's  on  her  way  to 
Kansas,  via  Chicago;  but  I  '11  lay  my  next  boilerful 
she  '11  be  held  there  to  wait  consignee's  convenience, 
and  sent  back  to  us  with  wheat  in  the  fall." 

Just  then  the  Pittsburgh  Consolidation  passed,  at  the 
head  of  a  dozen  cars. 

"  I  'm  goin'  home,"  he  said  proudly. 

"  Can't  get  all  them  twelve  on  to  the  flat.  Break 
'em  in  half,  Dutchy! "  cried  Poney.  But  it  was  .007 
who  was  backed  down  to  the  last  six  cars,  and  he  nearly 
blew  up  with  surprise  when  he  found  himself  pushing 
them  on  to  a  huge  ferry-boat.  He  had  never  seen  deep 
water  before,  and  shivered  as  the  flat  drew  away  and 
left  his  bogies  within  six  inches  of  the  black,  shiny  tide. 

After  this  he  was  hurried  to  the  freight-house,  where 
he  saw  the  yard-master,  a  smallish,  white-faced  man  in 
shirt,  trousers,  and  slippers,  looking  down  upon  a  sea  of 
trucks,  a  mob  of  bawling  truckmen,  and  squadrons  of 
backing,  turning,  sweating,  spark-striking  horses. 

"  That  's  shippers'  carts  loadin'  on  to  the  receivin' 
[253] 


.007 

trucks,"  said  the  small  engine,  reverently.  "But  he 
don't  care.  He  lets  'em  cuss.  He  's  the  Czar— King 
—Boss!  He  says  '  Please,'  and  then  they  kneel  down 
an'  pray.  There  's  three  or  four  strings  o'  to-day's 
freight  to  be  pulled  before  he  can  attend  to  them.  When 
he  waves  his  hand  that  way,  things  happen." 

A  string  of  loaded  cars  slid  out  down  the  track,  and 
a  string  of  empties  took  their  place.  Bales,  crates, 
boxes,  jars,  carboys,  frails,  cases,  and  packages  flew  into 
them  from  the  freight-house  as  though  the  cars  had 
been  magnets  and  they  iron  filings. 

* l  Ki-yah ! ' '  shrieked  little  Poney.     ' '  Ain't  it  great? ' ' 

A  purple-faced  truckman  shouldered  his  way  to  the 
yard-master,  and  shook  his  fist  under  his  nose.  The 
yard-master  never  looked  up  from  his  bundle  of  freight- 
receipts.  He  crooked  his  forefinger  slightly,  and  a  tall 
young  man  in  a  red  shirt,  lounging  carelessly  beside 
him,  hit  the  truckman  under  the  left  ear,  so  that  he 
dropped,  quivering  and  clucking,  on  a  hay -bale. 

' l  Eleven,  seven,  ninety-seven,  L.  Y.  S. ;  fourteen 
ought  ought  three;  nineteen  thirteen;  one  one  four; 
seventeen  ought  twenty-one  M.  B. ;  and  the  ten  west 
bound.  All  straight  except  the  two  last.  Cut  'em  off 
at  the  junction .  An'  that  ' s  all  right.  Pull  that  string. ' ' 
The  yard-master,  with  mild  blue  eyes,  looked  out  over 
the  howling  truckmen  at  the  waters  in  the  moonlight 
beyond,  and  hummed : 

"  All  things  bright  and  beautiful, 
All  creatures  great  and  small, 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 
The  Lawd  Gawd  He  made  all ! » 

[254] 


.007 

.007  moved  out  the  cars  and  delivered  them  to  the 
regular  road-engine.  He  had  never  felt  quite  so  limp 
in  his  life  before. 

"  Curious,  ain't  it?  "  said  Poney,  puffing,  on  the  next 
track.  "You  an'  me,  if  we  got  that  man  under  our 
bumpers,  we  'd  work  him  into  red  waste  an'  not  know 
what  we  'd  done;  but— up  there— with  the  steam  hum- 
min'  in  his  boiler  that  awful  quiet  way  ..." 

"  I  know,"  said  .007.  "  Makes  me  feel  as  if  I  'd 
dropped  my  fire]  an'  was  getting  cold.  He  is  the  great 
est  man  on  earth." 

They  were  at  the  far  north  end  of  the  yard  now, 
under  a  switch-tower,  looking  down  on  the  four-track 
way  of  the  main  traffic.  The  Boston  Compound  was 
to  haul  .O07's  string  to  some  far-away  northern  junc 
tion  over  an  indifferent  road-bed,  and  she  mourned 
aloud  for  the  ninety-six  pound  rails  of  the  B.  &  A. 

"You  're  young;  you  're  young,"  she  coughed. 
"You  don't  realise  your  responsibilities." 

"  Yes,  he  does,"  said  Poney,  sharply;  "  but  he  don't 
lie  down  under  'em. ' '  Then,  with  a  side-spurt  of  steam, 
exactly  like  a  tough  spitting:  "  There  ain't  more  than 
fifteen  thousand  dollars'  worth  o'  freight  behind  her  any 
way,  and  she  goes  on  as  if  't  were  a  hundred  thou 
sand—same  as  the  Mogul's.  Excuse  me,  madam,  but 
you  've  the  track.  .  .  .  She  's  stuck  on  a  dead-centre 
again— bein'  specially  designed  not  to." 

The  Compound  crawled  across  the  tracks  on  a  long 

slant,  groaning  horribly  at  each  switch,  and  moving 

like  a  cow  in  a  snow-drift.     There  was  a  little  pause 

along  the  yard  after  her  tail-lights  had  disappeared* 

[255] 


.007 

switches  locked  crisply,  and  every  one  seemed  to  be 
waiting. 

"  Now  I  '11  show  you  something  worth,"  said  Poney. 
"  When  the  Purple  Emperor  ain't  on  time,  it  's  about 
time  to  amend  the  Constitution.  The  first  stroke  of 
twelve  is—" 

"  Boom!  "  went  the  clock  in  the  big  yard-tower,  and 
far  away  .007  heard  a  full,  vibrating  "  Yah!  Yah! 
Yah!1''  A  headlight  twinkled  on  the  horizon  like  a 
star,  grew  an  overpowering  blaze,  and  whooped  up  the 
humming  track  to  the  roaring  music  of  a  happy  giant's 
song: 

"Withamichnai— ghignai— shtingal !    Yah!    Yah!    Yah! 
Bin- zwei-drei— Mutter!    Yah!    Yah!    Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten  all  der  people. 
Singin'  michnai — ghignai — shtingal !    Yah !     Yah !  n 

The  last  defiant  "yah!  yah!"  was  delivered  a  mile 
and  a  half  beyond  the  passenger-depot;  but  .007  had 
caught  one  glimpse  of  the  superb  six-wheel-coupled 
racing-locomotive,  who  hauled  the  pride  and  glory  of  the 
road— the  gilt-edged  Purple  Emperor,  the  millionaires' 
south-bound  express,  laying  the  miles  over  his  shoulder 
as  a  man  peels  a  shaving  from  a  soft  board.  The  rest 
was  a  blur  of  maroon  ename1,  a  bar  of  white  light  from 
the  electrics  in  the  cars,  and  a  flicker  of  nickel-plated 
hand-rail  on  the  rear  platform. 

"Ooh!"  said  .007. 

"  Seventy-five  miles  an  hour  these  five  miles.  Baths, 
I  've  heard:  barber's  shop;  ticker;  and  a  library  and  the 
[256] 


.007 

rest  to  match.  Yes,  sir ;  seventy-five  an  hour !  But  he  '11 
talk  to  you  in  the  round-house  just  as  democratic  as  I 
would.  And  I— cuss  my  wheel-base!— I  'd  kick  clean 
off  the  track  at  half  his  gait.  He  's  the  Master  of  our 
Lodge.  Cleans  up  at  our  house.  I  '11  introdooce  you 
some  day.  He  's  worth  knowin' !  There  ain't  many 
can  sing  that  song,  either." 

.007  was  too  full  of  emotions  to  answer.  He  did  not 
hear  a  raging  of  telephone-bells  in  the  switch-tower,  nor 
the  man,  as  he  leaned  out  and  called  to  .O07's  engineer: 
"Got  any  steam?" 

"  'Nough  to  run  her  a  hundred  mile  out  o'  this,  if  I 
could,"  said  the  engineer,  who  belonged  to  the  open 
road  and  hated  switching. 

* '  Then  get.  The  Flying  Freight 's  ditched  forty  mile 
out,  with  fifty  rod  o'  track  ploughed  up.  No;  no  one  's 
hurt,  but  both  tracks  are  blocked.  Lucky  the  wreckin'- 
car  an'  derrick  are  this  end  of  the  yard.  Crew  '11  be 
along  in  a  minute.  Hurry!  You  've  the  track." 

"  Well,  I  could  jest  kick  my  little  sawed-off  self,"  said 
Poney,  as  .007  was  backed,  with  a  bang,  on  to  a  grim 
and  grimy  car  like  a  caboose,  but  full  of  tools— a  flat- 
car  and  a  derrick  behind  it.  ' '  Some  folks  are  one  thing, 
and  some  are  another;  but  you  're  in  luck,  kid.  They 
push  a  wrecking-car.  Now,  don't  get  rattled.  Your 
wheel-base  will  keep  you  on  the  track,  and  there  ain't 
any  curves  worth  mentionin' .  Oh,  say !  Comanche  told 
me  there  's  one  section  o'  saw-edged  track  that  's  liable 
to  jounce  ye  a  little.  Fifteen  an'  a  half  out,  after  the 
grade  at  Jackson's  crossin'.  You  '11  know  it  by  a  farm 
house  an'  a  windmill  an'  five  maples  in  the  dooryarcl, 
[257] 


.007 

Windmill  's  west  o'  the  maples.  An'  there  's  an  eighty- 
foot  iron  bridge  in  the  middle  o'  that  section  with  no 
guard-rails.  See  you  later.  Luck!" 

Before  he  knew  well  what  had  happened,  .007  was  fly 
ing  up  the  track  into  the  dumb,  dark  world.  Then  fears 
of  the  night  beset  him.  He  remembered  all  he  had  ever 
heard  of  landslides,  rain-piled  boulders,  blown  trees, 
and  strayed  cattle,  all  that  the  Boston  Compound  had 
ever  said  of  responsibility,  and  a  great  deal  more  that 
came  out  of  his  own  head.  With  a  very  quavering  voice 
he  whistled  for  his  first  grade-crossing  (an  event  in  the 
life  of  a  locomotive),  and  his  nerves  were  in  no  way  re 
stored  by  the  sight  of  a  frantic  horse  and  a  white-faced 
man  in  a  buggy  less  than  a  yard  from  his  right  shoul 
der.  Then  he  was  sure  he  would  jump  the  track ;  felt 
his  flanges  mounting  the  rail  at  every  curve;  knew  that 
his  first  grade  would  make  him  lie  down  even  as  Co- 
manche  had  done  at  the  Newtons.  He  whirled  down  the 
grade  to  Jackson's  crossing,  saw  the  windmill  west  of 
the  maples,  felt  the  badly  laid  rails  spring  under  him, 
and  sweated  big  drops  all  over  his  boiler.  At  each 
jarring  bump  he  believed  an  axle  had  smashed,  and  he 
took  the  eighty-foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail  like 
a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence.  Then  a  wet  leaf 
stuck  against  the  glass  of  his  headlight  and  threw  a 
flying  shadow  on  the  track,  so  that  he  thought  it  was 
some  little  dancing  animal  that  would  feel  soft  if  he  ran 
over  it;  and  anything  soft  underfoot  frightens  a  loco 
motive  as  it  does  an  elephant.  But  the  men  behind 
seemed  quite  calm.  The  wrecking-crew  were  climbing 
carelessly  from  the  caboose  to  the  tender— even  jesting 
[258] 


.007 

with  the  engineer,  for  he  heard  a  shuffling  of  feet  among 
the  coal,  and  the  snatch  of  a  song,  something  like  this : 

' l  Oh,  the  Empire  State  must  learn  to  wait, 
And  the  Cannon-ball  go  hang ! 

When  the  West-bound  's  ditched,  and  the  tool-car  ;s  hitched, 
And  it 's  Vay  for  the  Breakdown  Gang  (Tara-ra !) 
'Way  for  the  Breakdown  Gang ! " 

"Say!  Eustis  knew  what  he  was  doin'  when  he 
designed  this  rig.  She  's  a  hummer.  New,  too." 

"Snff!  Phew!  She  is  new.  That  ain't  paint. 
That  's-" 

A  burning  pain  shot  through  .007's  right  rear  driver 
—a  crippling,  stinging  pain. 

"  This,"  said  .007,  as  he  flew,  "  is  a  hot-box.  Now  I 
know  what  it  means.  I  shall  go  to  pieces,  I  guess.  My 
first  road-run,  too! " 

"  Het  a  bit,  ain't  she?"  the  fireman  ventured  to 
suggest  to  the  engineer. 

"  She  '11  hold  for  all  we  want  of  her.  We  're  'most 
there.  Guess  you  chaps  back  had  better  climb  into 
your  car,"  said  the  engineer,  his  hand  on  the  brake- 
lever.  "  I  've  seen  men  snapped  off—" 

But  the  crew  fled  back  with  laughter.  They  had  no 
wish  to  be  jerked  on  to  the  track.  The  engineer  half 
turned  his  wrist,  and.  007  found  his  drivers  pinned  firm. 

"  Now  it  's  come!  "  said  .007,  as  he  yelled  aloud,  and 
slid  like  a  sleigh.  For  the  moment  he  fancied  that  he 
would  jerk  bodily  from  off  his  underpinning. 

"  That  must  be  the  emergency-stop  that  Poney  guyed 
me  about, ' '  he  gasped,  as  soon  as  he  could  think.  * '  Hot- 
[259] 


.007 

box — emergency-stop.  They  both  hurt;  but  now  I  can 
talk  back  in  the  round-house." 

He  was  halted,  all  hissing  hot,  a  few  feet  in  the  rear 
of  what  doctors  would  call  a  compound-comminuted  car. 
His  engineer  was  kneeling  down  among  his  drivers,  but 
he  did  not  call  .007  his  u  Arab  steed,"  nor  cry  over  him, 
as  the  engineers  did  in  the  newspapers.  He  just  bad- 
worded  .007,  and  pulled  yards  of  charred  cotton- waste 
from  about  the  axles,  and  hoped  he  might  some  day  catch 
the  idiot  who  had  packed  it.  Nobody  else  attended  to 
him,  for  Evans,  the  Mogul's  engineer,  a  little  cut  about 
the  head,  but  very  angry,  was  exhibiting,  by  lantern- 
light,  the  mangled  corpse  of  a  slim  blue  pig. 

"  'T  were  n't  even  a  decent-sized  hog,"  he  said. 
"'T  wereashote." 

* '  Dangerousest  beasts  they  are, ' '  said  one  of  the 
crew.  ' '  Get  under  the  pilot  an'  sort  o'  twiddle  ye  off 
the  track,  don't  they? " 

"  Don't  they?  "  roared  Evans,  who  was  a  red-headed 
Welshman.  "  You  talk  as  if  I  was  ditched  by  a  hog 
every  fool-day  o'  the  week.  /  ain't  friends  with  all  the 
cussed  half -fed  shotes  in  the  State  o'  New  York.  No, 
indeed!  Yes,  this  is  him— an'  look  what  he  's  done!  " 

It  was  not  a  bad  night's  work  for  one  stray  piglet. 
The  Flying  Freight  seemed  to  have  flown  in  every  di 
rection,  for  the  Mogul  had  mounted  the  rails  and  run 
diagonally  a  few  hundred  feet  from  right  to  left,  taking 
with  him  such  cars  as  cared  to  follow.  Some  did  not. 
They  broke  their  couplers  and  lay  down,  while  rear  cars 
frolicked  over  them.  In  that  game,  they  had  ploughed 
up  and  removed  and  twisted  a  good  deal  of  the  left 
[260] 


.007 

hand  track.  The  Mogul  himself  had  waddled  into  a 
corn-field,  and  there  he  knelt— fantastic  wreaths  of 
green  twisted  round  his  crank-pins;  his  pilot  covered 
with  solid  clods  of  field,  on  which  corn  nodded  drunk- 
enly;  his  fire  put  out  with  dirt  (Evans  had  done  that 
as  soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses);  and  his  broken 
headlight  half  full  of  half-burnt  moths.  His  tender 
had  thrown  coal  all  over  him,  and  he  looked  like  a  dis 
reputable  buffalo  who  had  tried  to  wallow  in  a  general 
store.  For  there  lay  scattered  over  the  landscape,  from 
the  burst  cars,  type- writers,  sewing-machines,  bicycles 
in  crates,  a  consignment  of  silver-plated  imported  har 
ness,  French  dresses  and  gloves,  a  dozen  finely  moulded 
hard- wood  mantels,  a  fifteen-foot  naphtha-launch,  with 
a  solid  brass  bedstead  crumpled  around  her  bows,  a  case 
of  telescopes  and  microscopes,  two  coffins,  a  case  of  very 
best  candies,  some  gilt-edged  dairy  produce,  butter  and 
eggs  in  an  omelette,  a  broken  box  of  expensive  toys, 
and  a  few  hundred  other  luxuries.  A  camp  of  tramps 
hurried  up  from  nowhere,  and  generously  volunteered 
to  help  the  crew.  So  the  brakemen,  armed  with  cou 
pler-pins,  walked  up  and  down  on  one  side,  and  the 
freight- conductor  and  the  fireman  patrolled  the  other 
with  their  hands  in  their  hip-pockets.  A  long-bearded 
man  came  out  of  a  house  beyond  the  corn-field,  and  told 
Evans  that  if  the  accident  had  happened  a  little  later  in 
the  year,  all  his  corn  would  have  been  burned,  and  ac 
cused  Evans  of  carelessness.  Then  he  ran  away,  for 
Evans  was  at  his  heels  shrieking:  "  'T  was  his  hog  done 
it— his  hog  done  it !  Let  me  kill  him !  Let  me  kill  him ! ' ' 
Then  the  wrecking-crew  laughed ;  and  the  farmer  put 
[261] 


.007 

his  head  out  of  a  window  and  said  that  Evans  was  no 
gentleman. 

But  .007  was  very  sober.  He  had  never  seen  a  wreck 
before,  and  it  frightened  him.  The  crew  still  laughed, 
but  they  worked  at  the  same  time;  and  .007  forgot  hor 
ror  in  amazement  at  the  way  they  handled  the  Mogul 
freight.  They  dug  round  him  with  spades;  they  put 
ties  in  front  of  his  wheels,  and  jack-screws  under  him; 
they  embraced  him  with  the  derrick-chain  and  tickled 
him  with  crowbars ;  while  .007  was  hitched  on  to  wrecked 
cars  and  backed  away  till  the  knot  broke  or  the  cars 
rolled  clear  of  the  track.  By  dawn  thirty  or  forty 
men  were  at  work,  replacing  and  ramming  down  the 
ties,  gauging  the  rails  and  spiking  them.  By  daylight 
all  cars  who  could  move  had  gone  on  in  charge  of  an 
other  loco;  the  track  was  freed  for  traffic;  and  .007  had 
hauled  the  old  Mogul  over  a  small  pavement  of  ties,  inch 
by  inch,  till  his  flanges  bit  the  rail  once  more,  and  he 
settled  down  with  a  clank.  But  his  spirit  was  broken, 
and  his  nerve  was  gone. 

"  'T  were  n't  even  a  hog,"  he  repeated  dolefully; 
"  't  were  a  shote;  and  you— you  of  all  of  'em— had  to 
help  me  on." 

"  But  how  in  the  whole  long  road  did  it  happen? " 
asked  .007,  sizzling  with  curiosity. 

4 '  Happen !  It  did  n't  happen !  It  just  come !  I  sailed 
right  on  top  of  him  around  that  last  curve— thought  he 
was  a  skunk.  Yes ;  he  was  all  as  little  as  that.  He 
had  n't  more  'n  squealed  once  'fore  I  felt  my  bogies  lift 
(he  'd  rolled  right  under  the  pilot),  and  I  could  n't  catch 
the  track  again  to  save  me.  Swivelled  clean  off,  I  was. 
Then  I  felt  him  sling  himself  along,  all  greasy,  under 
[262] 


.007 

my  left  leadin'  driver,  and,  oh,  Boilers!  that  mounted 
the  rail.  I  heard  my  flanges  zippin'  along  the  ties,  an* 
the  next  I  knew  I  was  playin'  '  Sally,  Sally  Waters '  in 
the  corn,  my  tender  shuckin'  coal  through  my  cab,  an' 
old  man  Evans  lyin'  still  an'  bleedin'  in  front  o'  me. 
Shook?  There  ain't  a  stay  or  a  bolt  or  a  rivet  in  me 
that  ain't  sprung  to  glory  somewhere." 

"Umm!"  said  .007.  "What  d'  you  reckon  you 
weigh?" 

"  Without  these  lumps  o'  dirt  I  'm  all  of  a  hundred 
thousand  pound." 

"  And  the  shote?  " 

"  Eighty.  Call  him  a  hundred  pound  at  the  outside. 
He  's  worth  about  four  'n'  a  half  dollars.  Ain't  it 
awful?  Ain't  it  enough  to  give  you  nervous  prostration? 
Ain't  it  paralysin'?  Why,  I  come  just  around  that 
curve — "  and  the  Mogul  told  the  tale  again,  for  he  was 
very  badly  shaken. 

"  Well,  it  's  all  in  the  day's  run,  I  guess,"  said  .007, 
soothingly;  "  an'— an'  a  corn-field's  pretty  soft  fallin'." 

"If  it  had  bin  a  sixty-foot  bridge,  an'  I  could  ha' 
slid  off  into  deep  water  an'  blown  up  an'  killed  both 
men,  same  as  others  have  done,  I  would  n't  ha'  cared; 
but  to  be  ditched  by  a  shote— an'  you  to  help  me  out — 
in  a  corn-field— an'  an  old  hayseed  in  his  nightgown 
cussin'  me  like  as  if  I  was  a  sick  truck-horse!  .  .  .  Oh, 
it  's  awful!  Don't  call  me  Mogul!  I  'm  a  sewin'- 
machine.  They  '11  guy  my  sand-box  off  in  the  yard." 

And  .007,  his  hot-box  cooled  and  his  experience  vastly 
enlarged,  hauled  the  Mogul  freight  slowly  to  the  round 
house. 

"Hello,  old  man!  Bin  out  all  night,  hain't  ye?" 
[263] 


.007 

said  the  irrepressible  Poney,  who  had  just  come  off 
duty.  "  Well,  I  must  say  you  look  it.  Costly— perish 
able— fragile— immediate— that  's  you !  Go  to  the  shops, 
take  them  vine-leaves  out  o'  your  hair,  an'  git  :em  to 
play  the  hose  on  you.'* 

"  Leave  him  alone,  Poney,"  said  .007,  severely,  as  he 
was  swung  on  the  turn-table,  "  or  I  11—" 

"  'Did  n'«t  know  the  old  granger  was  any  special 
friend  o'  yours,  kid.  He  was  n't  over-civil  to  you  last 
time  I  saw  him. ' ' 

"  I  know  it;  but  I  've  seen  a  wreck  since  then,  and  it 
has  about  scared  the  paint  off  me.  I  'm  not  going  to 
guy  any  one  as  long  as  I  steam— not  when  they  're  new 
to  the  business  an'  anxious  to  learn.  And  I  'm  not  goin' 
to  guy  the  old  Mogul  either,  though  I  did  find  him 
wreathed  around  with  roastin'-ears.  'T  was  a  little  bit 
of  a  shote— not  a  hog— just  a  shote,  Poney— no  bigger  'n 
a  lump  of  anthracite— I  saw  it— that  made  all  the  mess. 
Anybody  can  be  ditched,  I  guess." 

"  Found  that  out  already,  have  you?  Well,  that  's  a 
good  beginnin'."  It  was  the  Purple  Emperor,  with  his 
high,  tight,  plate-glass  cab  and  green  velvet  cushion, 
waiting  to  be  cleaned  for  his  next  day's  fly. 

"  Let  me  make  you  two  gen'lemen  acquainted,"  said 
Poney.  "  This  is  our  Purple  Emperor,  kid,  whom  you 
were  admirin'  and,  I  may  say,  envyin'  last  night.  This 
is  a  new  brother,  worshipful  sir,  with  most  of  his  mile 
age  ahead  of  him,  but,  so  far  as  a  serving-brother  can, 
I  '11  answer  for  him." 

"  'Happy  to  meet  you,"  said  the  Purple  Emperor, 
with  a  glance  round  the  crowded  round-house.  "  I 
[264] 


.007 

guess  there  are  enough  of  us  here  to  form  a  full  meetin'. 
Ahem!  By  virtue  of  the  authority  vested  in  me  as 
Head  of  the  Road,  I  hereby  declare  and  pronounce  No. 
.007  a  full  and  accepted  Brother  of  the  Amalgamated 
Brotherhood  of  Locomotives,  and  as  such  entitled  to  all 
shop,  switch,  track,  tank,  and  round-house  privileges 
throughout  my  jurisdiction,  in  the  Degree  of  Superior 
Flier,  it  bein'  well  known  and  credibly  reported  to  me 
that  our  Brother  has  covered  forty-one  miles  in  thirty- 
nine  minutes  and  a  half  on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  the 
afflicted.  At  a  convenient  time,  I  myself  will  commu 
nicate  to  you  the  Song  and  Signal  of  this  Degree  whereby 
you  may  be  recognised  in  the  darkest  night.  Take  your 

stall,  newly  entered  Brother  among  Locomotives ! ' ' 
********** 

Now,  in  the  darkest  night,  even  as  the  Purple  Emperor 
said,  if  you  will  stand  on  the  bridge  across  the  freight- 
yard,  looking  down  upon  the  four- track  way,  at  2 :  30 
A.  M.,  neither  before  nor  after,  when  the  White  Moth, 
that  takes  the  overflow  from  the  Purple  Emperor, 
tears  south  with  her  seven  vestibuled  cream- white  cars, 
you  will  hear,  as  the  yard-clock  makes  the  half -hour,  a 
far-away  sound  like  the  bass  of  a  violoncello,  and  then, 
a  hundred  feet  to  each  word : 

"  With  a  michnai— ghignai— shtingal !    Yah !    Yah  !    Yah ! 
Ein—zwei—drei— Mutter !    Yah!    Yah!    Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten  all  der  people, 
Singin7  miehnai— ghignai— shtingal !    Yah !    Yah ! " 

That  is  .007  covering  his  one  hundred  and  fifty-six 
miles  in  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  minutes. 
[265] 


THE  MALTESE  CAT 


THE   MALTESE   CAT 

rriHEY  had  good  reason  to  be  proud,  and  better  rea- 
J.  son  to  be  afraid,  all  twelve  of  them;  for  though  they 
had  fought  their  way,  game  by  game,  up  the  teams 
entered  for  the  polo  tournament,  they  were  meeting 
the  Archangels  that  afternoon  in  the  final  match ;  and 
the  Archangels  men  were  playing  with  half  a  dozen 
ponies  apiece.  As  the  game  was  divided  into  six  quar 
ters  of  eight  minutes  each,  that  meant  a  fresh  pony 
after  every  halt.  The  Skidars'  team,  even  supposing 
there  were  no  accidents,  could  only  supply  one  pony 
for  every  other  change;  and  two  to  one  is  heavy  odds. 
Again,  as  Shiraz,  the  grey  Syrian,  pointed  out,  they 
were  meeting  the  pink  and  pick  of  the  polo-ponies  of 
Upper  India,  ponies  that  had  cost  from  a  thousand 
rupees  each,  while  they  themselves  were  a  cheap  lot 
gathered,  often  from  country-carts,  by  their  masters, 
who  belonged  to  a  poor  but  honest  native  infantry 
regiment. 

"  Money  means  pace  and  weight,"  said  Shiraz,  rub 
bing  his  black-silk  nose  dolefully  along  his  neat-fitting 
boot,  "  and  by  the  maxims  of  the  game  as  I  know  it—" 

"  Ah,  but  we  are  n't  playing  the  maxims,"  said  The 
Maltese  Cat.  ' '  We  're  playing  the  game ;  and  we ' ve  the 
great  advantage  of  knowing  the  game.  Just  think  a 
[269] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

stride,  Shiraz!  We  've  pulled  up  from  bottom  to  second 
place  in  two  weeks  against  all  those  fellows  on  the 
ground  here.  That  's  because  we  play  with  our  heads 
as  well  as  our  feet." 

"  It  makes  me  feel  undersized  and  unhappy  all  the 
same,"  said  Kittiwynk,  a  mouse-coloured  mare  with 
a  red  brow-band  and  the  cleanest  pair  of  legs  that 
ever  an  aged  pony  owned.  "  They  've  twice  our  style, 
these  others." 

Kittiwynk  looked  at  the  gathering  and  sighed.  The 
hard,  dusty  polo-ground  was  lined  with  thousands  of 
soldiers,  black  and  white,  not  counting  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  carriages  and  drags  and  dog-carts,  and 
ladies  with  brilliant-coloured  parasols,  and  officers 
in  uniform  and  out  of  it,  and  crowds  of  natives  behind 
them;  and  orderlies  on  camels,  who  had  halted  to  watch 
the  game,  instead  of  carrying  letters  up  and  down  the 
station;  and  native  horse-dealers  running  about  on  thin- 
eared  Biluchi  mares,  looking  for  a  chance  to  sell  a  few 
first-class  polo-ponies.  Then  there  were  the  ponies  of 
thirty  teams  that  had  entered  for  the  Upper  India 
Free-for-All  Cup— nearly  every  pony  of  worth  and 
dignity,  from  Mhow  to  Peshawar,  from  Allahabad  to 
Multan;  prize  ponies,  Arabs,  Syrian,  Barb,  country- 
bred,  Deccanee,  Waziri,  and  Kabul  ponies  of  every 
colour  and  shape  and  temper  that  you  could  imagine. 
Some  of  them  were  in  mat-roofed  stables,  close  to  the 
polo-ground,  but  most  were  under  saddle,  while  their 
masters,  who  had  been  defeated  in  the  earlier  games, 
trotted  in  and  out  and  told  the  world  exactly  how  the 
game  should  be  played. 

[270] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

It  was  a  glorious  sight,  and  the  come  and  go  of  the 
little,  quick  hooves,  and  the  incessant  salutations  of 
ponies  that  had  met  before  on  other  polo-grounds  or  race 
courses  were  enough  to  drive  a  four-footed  thing  wild. 

But  the  Skidars'  team  were  careful  not  to  know  their 
neighbours,  though  half  the  ponies  on  the  ground  were 
anxious  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  the  little  fellows 
that  had  come  from  the  North,  and,  so  far,  had  swept 
the  board. 

"Let  's  see,"  said  a  soft  gold-coloured  Arab,  who 
had  been  playing  very  badly  the  day  before,  to  The 
Maltese  Cat;  "  did  n't  we  meet  in  Abdul  Rahman's 
stable  in  Bombay,  four  seasons  ago?  I  won  the  Paik- 
pattan  Cup  next  season,  you  may  remember?  " 

"  Not  me,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  politely.  "  I  was 
at  Malta  then,  pulling  a  vegetable-cart.  I  don't  race. 
I  play  the  game." 

uOh!"  said  the  Arab,  cocking  his  tail  and  swag 
gering  off. 

"Keep  yourselves  to  yourselves,"  said  The  Maltese 
Cat  to  his  companions.  "  We  don't  want  to  rub  noses 
with  all  those  goose-rumped  half-breeds  of  Upper  India. 
When  we  've  won  this  Cup  they  '11  give  their  shoes  to 
know  MS." 

"  We  sha'n't  win  the  Cup,"  said  Shiraz.  "  How  do 
you  feel?" 

"  Stale  as  last  night's  feed  when  a  muskrat  has  run 
over  it,"  said  Polaris,  a  rather  heavy-shouldered  grey; 
and  the  rest  of  the  team  agreed  with  him. 

"The  sooner  you  forget  that  the  better,"  said  The 
Maltese  Cat,  cheerfully.  "  They  've  finished  tiffin  in 
[271] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

the  big  tent.  We  shall  be  wanted  now.  If  your  saddles 
are  not  comfy,  kick.  If  your  bits  are  n't  easy,  rear,  and 
let  the  saises  know  whether  your  boots  are  tight." 

Each  pony  had  his  sais,  his  groom,  who  lived  and  ate 
and  slept  with  the  animal,  and  had  betted  a  good 
deal  more  than  he  could  afford  on  the  result  of  the  game. 
There  was  no  chance  of  anything  going  wrong,  but  to 
make  sure,  each  sais  was  shampooing  the  legs  of  his 
pony  to  the  last  minute.  Behind  the  saises  sat  as 
many  of  the  Skidars'  regiment  as  had  leave  to  attend 
the  match— about  half  the  native  officers,  and  a  hun 
dred  or  two  dark,  black-bearded  men  with  the  regi 
mental  pipers  nervously  fingering  the  big,  beribboned 
bagpipes.  The  Skidars  were  what  they  call  a  Pioneer 
regiment,  and  the  bagpipes  made  the  national  music  of 
half  their  men.  The  native  officers  held  bundles  of  polo- 
sticks,  long  cane-handled  mallets,  and  as  the  grand  stand 
filled  after  lunch  they  arranged  themselves  by  ones  and 
twos  at  different  points  round  the  ground,  so  that  if  a 
stick  were  broken  the  player  would  not  have  far  to  ride 
for  a  new  one.  An  impatient  British  Cavalry  Band 
struck  up  "  If  you  want  to  know  the  time,  ask  a  p'leece- 
man!  "  and  the  two  umpires  in  light  dust-coats  danced 
out  on  two  little  excited  ponies.  The  four  players  of  the 
Archangels'  team  followed,  and  the  sight  of  their  beau 
tiful  mounts  made  Shiraz  groan  again. 

4 '  Wait  till  we  know, ' '  said  The  Maltese  Cat.  ' '  Two  of 
'em  are  playing  in  blinkers,  and  that  means  they  can't 
see  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  their  own  side,  or  they  may 
shy  at  the  umpires'  ponies.  They  've  all  got  white  web- 
reins  that  are  sure  to  stretch  or  slip!  " 
[272] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

"  And,"  said  Kittiwynk,  dancing  to  take  the  stiffness 
out  of  her,  ' '  they  carry  their  whips  in  their  hands  in 
stead  of  on  their  wrists.  Hah!  " 

' '  True  enough.  No  man  can  manage  his  stick  and  his 
reins  and  his  whip  that  way,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat. 
"I  've  fallen  over  every  square  yard  of  the  Malta 
ground,  and  I  ought  to  know." 

He  quivered  his  little,  flea-bitten  withers  just  to  show 
how  satisfied  he  felt;  but  his  heart  was  not  so  light. 
Ever  since  he  had  drifted  into  India  on  a  troop-ship, 
taken,  with  an  old  rifle,  as  part  payment  for  a  racing 
debt,  The  Maltese  Cat  had  played  and  preached  polo  to 
the  Skidars1  team  on  the  Skidans'  stony  polo-ground. 
Now  a  polo-pony  is  like  a  poet.  If  he  is  born  with  a 
love  for  the  game,  he  can  be  made.  The  Maltese  Cat 
knew  that  bamboos  grew  solely  in  order  that  polo- 
balls  might  be  turned  from  their  roots,  that  grain  was 
given  to  ponies  to  keep  them  in  hard  condition,  and 
that  ponies  were  shod  to  prevent  them  slipping  on  a  turn. 
But,  besides  all  these  things,  he  knew  every  trick  and 
device  of  the  finest  game  in  the  world,  and  for  two  sea 
sons  had  been  teaching  the  others  all  he  knew  or  guessed. 

'  *  Remember, ' '  he  said  for  the  hundredth  time,  as 
the  riders  came  up,  "  you  must  play  together,  and  you 
must  play  with  your  heads.  Whatever  happens,  follow 
the  ball.  Who  goes  out  first? " 

Kittiwynk,  Shiraz,  Polaris,  and  a  short  high  little  bay 
fellow  with  tremendous  hocks  and  no  withers  worth 
speaking  of  (he  was  called  Corks)  were  being  girthed 
up,  and  the  soldiers  in  the  background  stared  with  all 
their  eyes. 

[273] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

u  I  want  you  men  to  keep  quiet,"  said  Lutyens,  the 
captain  of  the  team,  "  and  especially  not  to  blow  your 
pipes." 

"  Not  if  we  win,  Captain  Sahib? "  asked  the  piper. 

* '  If  we  win  you  can  do  what  you  please, ' '  said  Lut 
yens,  with  a  smile,  as  he  slipped  the  loop  of  his  stick 
over  his  wrist,  and  wheeled  to  canter  to  his  place.  The 
Archangels'  ponies  were  a  little  bit  above  themselves 
on  account  of  the  many-coloured  crowd  so  close  to  the 
ground.  Their  riders  were  excellent  players,  but  they 
were  a  team  of.  crack  players  instead  of  a  crack  team; 
and  that  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  They 
honestly  meant  to  play  together,  but  it  is  very  hard 
for  four  men,  each  the  best  of  the  team  he  is  picked 
from,  to  remember  that  in  polo  no  brilliancy  in  hitting 
or  riding  makes  up  for  playing  alone.  Their  captain 
shouted  his  orders  to  them  by  name,  and  it  is  a  curious 
thing  that  if  you  call  his  name  aloud  in  public  after  an 
Englishman  you  make  him  hot  and  fretty.  Lutyens 
said  nothing  to  his  men,  because  it  had  all  been  said  be 
fore.  He  pulled  up  Shiraz,  for  he  was  playing  ' '  back," 
to  guard  the  goal.  Powell  on  Polaris  was  half-back,  and 
Macnamara  and  Hughes  on  Corks  and  Kittiwynk  were 
forwards.  The  tough,  bamboo  ball  was  set  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  ground,  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the 
ends,  and  Hughes  crossed  sticks,  heads  up,  with  the 
Captain  of  the  Archangels,  who  saw  fit  to  play  forward ; 
that  is  a  place  from  which  you  cannot  easily  control 
your  team.  The  little  click  as  the  cane-shafts  met  was 
heard  all  over  the  ground,  and  then  Hughes  made  some 
sort  of  quick  wrist-stroke  that  just  dribbled  the  ball  a 
[274] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

few  yards.  Kittiwynk  knew  that  stroke  of  old,  and  fol 
lowed  as  a  cat  follows  a  mouse.  While  the  Captain  of 
the  Archangels  was  wrenching  his  pony  round,  Hughes 
struck  with  all  his  strength,  and  next  instant  Kittiwynk 
was  away,  Corks  following  close  behind  her,  their  little 
feet  pattering  like  raindrops  on  glass. 

"  Pull  out  to  the  left,"  said  Kittiwynk  between  her 
teeth;  "it  's  coming  your  way,  Corks!  " 

The  back  and  half-back  of  the  Archangels  were  tear 
ing  down  on  her  just  as  she  was  within  reach  of  the  ball. 
Hughes  leaned  forward  with  a  loose  rein,  and  cut  it 
away  to  the  left  almost  under  Kittiwynk's  foot,  and  it 
hopped  and  skipped  off  to  Corks,  who  saw  that,  if  he  was 
not  quick  it  would  run  beyond  the  boundaries.  That 
long  bouncing  drive  gave  the  Archangels  time  to  wheel 
and  send  three  men  across  the  ground  to  head  off  Corks. 
Kittiwynk  stayed  where  she  was ;  for  she  knew  the  game. 
Corks  was  on  the  ball  half  a  fraction  of  a  second  before 
the  others  came  up,  and  Macnamara,  with  a  backhanded 
stroke,  sent  it  back  across  the  ground  to  Hughes,  who 
saw  the  way  clear  to  the  Archangels'  goal,  and 
smacked  the  ball  in  before  any  one  quite  knew  what 
had  happened. 

"That  's  luck,"  said  Corks,  as  they  changed  ends. 
"  A  goal  in  three  minutes  for  three  hits,  and  no  riding 
to  speak  of." 

"  'Don't  know,"  said  Polaris.  "  We  Ve  made  'em 
angry  too  soon.  Should  n't  wonder  if  they  tried  to 
rush  us  off  our  feet  next  tune." 

"  Keep  the  ball  hanging,  then,"  said  Shiraz.     "  That 
wears  out  every  pony  that  is  not  used  to  it." 
[275] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

Next  time  there  was  no  easy  galloping  across  the 
ground.  All  the  Archangels  closed  up  as  one  man,  but 
there  they  stayed,  for  Corks,  Kittiwynk,  and  Polaris 
were  somewhere  on  the  top  of  the  ball,  marking  time 
among  the  rattling  sticks,  while  Shiraz  circled  about 
outside,  waiting  for  a  chance. 

"  We  can  do  this  all  day,"  said  Polaris,  ramming  his 
quarters  into  the  side  of  another  pony.  "  Where  do 
you  think  you  're  shoving  to? " 

"  I  '11— I  '11  be  driven  in  an  eJcJca  if  I  know,"  was  the 
gasping  reply,  "  and  I  'd  give  a  week's  feed  to  get  my 
blinkers  off.  I  can't  see  anything. " 

"  The  dust  is  rather  bad.  Whew!  That  was  one  for 
my  off-hock.  Where  's  the  ball,  Corks?  " 

"  Under  my  tail.  At  least,  the  man 's  looking  for  it 
there!  This  is  beautiful.  They  can't  use  their  sticks, 
and  it  's  driving  'em  wild.  Give  old  Blinkers  a  push 
and  then  he  '11  go  over." 

"  Here,  don't  touch  me !  I  can't  see.  I  '11— I  '11  back 
out,  I  think,"  said  the  pony  in  blinkers,  who  knew  that 
if  you  can't  see  all  round  your  head,  you  cannot  prop 
yourself  against  the  shock. 

Corks  was  watching  the  ball  where  it  lay  in  the  dust, 
close  to  his  near  fore-leg,  with  Macnamara's  shortened 
stick  tap-tapping  it  from  time  to  time.  Kittiwynk  was 
edging  her  way  out  of  the  scrimmage,  whisking  her 
stump  of  a  tail  with  nervous  excitement. 

"  Ho !    They  '  ve  got  it, ' '  she  snorted.     * '  Let  me  out ! ' ' 
and  she  galloped  like  a  rifle-bullet  just  behind  a  tall 
lanky  pony  of  the  Archangels,  whose  rider  was  swing 
ing  up  his  stick  for  a  stroke. 
[276] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

"  Not  to-day,  thank  you,"  said  Hughes,  as  the  blow 
slid  off  his  raised  stick,  and  Kittiwynk  laid  her  shoulder 
to  the  tall  pony's  quarters,  and  shoved  him  aside  just 
as  Lutyens  on  Shiraz  sent  the  ball  where  it  had  come 
from,  and  the  tall  pony  went  skating  and  slipping  away 
to  the  left.  Kittiwynk,  seeing  that  Polaris  had  joined 
Corks  in  the  chase  for  the  ball  up  the  ground,  dropped 
into  Polaris'  place,  and  then  "  time  "  was  called. 

The  Skidars'  ponies  wasted  no  time  in  kicking  or 
fuming.  They  knew  that  each  minute's  rest  meant  so 
much  gain,  and  trotted  off  to  the  rails,  and  their  saises 
began  to  scrape  and  blanket  and  rub  them  at  once. 

"  Whew  1 ' '  said  Corks,  stiffening  up  to  get  all  the  tickle 
of  the  big  vulcanite  scraper.  ' '  If  we  were  playing  pony 
for  pony,  we  would  bend  those  Archangels  double  in  half 
an  hour.  But  they  '11  bring  up  fresh  ones  and  fresh  ones 
and  fresh  ones  after  that— you  see." 

"  Who  cares?"  said  Polaris.  "We  've  drawn  first 
blood.  Is  my  hock  swelling?  " 

"Looks  puffy,"  said  Corks.  "You  must  have  had 
rather  a  wipe.  Don't  let  it  stiffen.  You  '11  be  wanted 
again  in  half  an  hour. ' ' 

"  What  's  the  game  like? "  said  The  Maltese  Cat. 

"  'Ground  's  like  your  shoe,  except  where  they  put 
too  much  water  on  it,"  said  Kittiwynk.  "  Then  it  's 
slippery.  Don't  play  in  the  centre.  There  's  a  bog 
there.  I  don't  know  how  their  next  four  are  going  to 
behave,  but  we  kept  the  ball  hanging,  and  made  'em 
lather  for  nothing.  Who  goes  out  ?  Two  Arabs  and  a 
couple  of  country-bredsl  That '»  bad.  What  a  comfort 
it  is  to  wash  your  mouth  out!  " 
[277] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

Kitty  was  talking  with  a  neck  of  a  lather-covered 
soda-water  bottle  between  her  teeth,  and  trying  to  look 
over  her  withers  at  the  same  time.  This  gave  her  a 
very  coquettish  air. 

"  What  's  bad?  "  said  Grey  Dawn,  giving  to  the  girth 
and  admiring  his  well-set  shoulders. 

"  You  Arabs  can't  gallop  fast  enough  to  keep  your 
selves  warm— that  's  what  Kitty  means,"  said  Polaris, 
limping  to  show  that  his  hock  needed  attention.  "Are 
you  playing  back,  Grey  Dawn? " 

"  'Looks  like  it,"  said  Grey  Dawn,  as  Lutyens  swung 
himself  up.  Powell  mounted  The  Rabbit,  a  plain  bay 
country-bred  much  like  Corks,  but  with  mulish  ears. 
Macnamara  took  Faiz-Ullah,  a  handy,  short-backed 
little  red  Arab  with  a  long  tail,  and  Hughes  mounted 
Benami,  an  old  and  sullen  brown  beast,  who  stood  over 
in  front  more  than  a  polo-pony  should. 

1 '  Benami  looks  like  business, ' '  said  Shiraz.  *  *  How  's 
your  temper,  Ben?"  The  old  campaigner  hobbled  off 
without  answering,  and  The  Maltese  Cat  looked  at  the 
new  Archangel  ponies  prancing  about  on  the  ground. 
They  were  four  beautiful  blacks,  and  they  saddled  big 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  eat  the  Skidars'  team  and 
gallop  away  with  the  meal  inside  them. 

"Blinkers  again,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat.  "Good 
enough! " 

"  They  're  chargers— cavalry  chargers!  "  said  Kitti- 
wynk,  indignantly.  '•'-They  '11  never  see  thirteen-three 
again." 

"  They  've  all  been  fairly  measured,  and  they  've  all 
got  their  certificates,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  "  or  they 
[278] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

would  n't  be  here.  We  must  take  things  as  they  come 
along,  and  keep  your  eyes  on  the  ball." 

The  game  began,  but  this  time  the  Skidars  were 
penned  to  their  own  end  of  the  ground,  and  the  watch 
ing  ponies  did  not  approve  of  that. 

"  Faiz-Ullah  is  shirking— as  usual,"  said  Polaris, 
with  a  scornful  grunt. 

' '  Faiz-Ullah  is  eating  whip, ' '  said  Corks.  They  could 
hear  the  leather- thonged  polo  quirt  lacing  the  little 
fellow's  well-rounded  barrel.  Then  The  Eabbit's  shrill 
neigh  came  across  the  ground. 

"  I  can't  do  all  the  work,"  he  cried,  desperately. 

"Play  the  game— don't  talk,"  The  Maltese  Cat 
whickered ;  and  all  the  ponies  wriggled  with  excitement, 
and  the  soldiers  and  the  grooms  gripped  the  railings 
and  shouted.  A  black  pony  with  blinkers  had  singled 
out  old  Benami,  and  was  interfering  with  him  in  every 
possible  way.  They  could  see  Benami  shaking  his 
head  up  and  down,  and  napping  his  under  lip. 

"There  '11  be  a  fall  in  a  minute,"  said  Polaris. 
"Benami  is  getting  stuffy." 

The  game  nickered  up  and  down  between  goal-post 
and  goal-post,  and  the  black  ponies  were  getting  more 
confident  as  they  felt  they  had  the  legs  of  the  others. 
The  ball  was  hit  out  of  a  little  scrimmage,  and  Benami 
and  The  Eabbit  followed  it,  Faiz-Ullah  only  too  glad  to 
be  quiet  for  an  instant. 

The  blinkered  black  pony  came  up  like  a  hawk,  with 
two  of  his  own  side  behind  him,  and  Benami's  eye  glit 
tered  as  he  raced.  The  question  was  which  pony  should 
make  way  for  the  other,  for  each  rider  was  perfectly 
[279] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

willing  to  risk  a  fall  in  a  good  cause.  The  black,  who 
had  been  driven  nearly  crazy  by  his  blinkers,  trusted  to 
his  weight  and  his  temper;  but  Benami  knew  how  to  ap 
ply  his  weight  and  how  to  keep  his  temper.  They  met, 
and  there  was  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  black  was  lying 
on  his  side,  all  the  breath  knocked  out  of  his  body. 
The  Rabbit  was  a  hundred  yards  up  the  ground  with  the 
ball,  and  Benami  was  sitting  down.  He  had  slid  nearly 
ten  yards  on  his  tail,  but  he  had  had  his  revenge,  and 
sat  cracking  his  nostrils  till  the  black  pony  rose. 

"That  's  what  you  get  for  interfering.  Do  you 
want  any  more?  "  said  Benami,  and  he  plunged  into  the 
game.  Nothing  was  done  that  quarter,  because  Faiz- 
Ullah  would  not  gallop,  though  Macnamara  beat  him 
whenever  he  could  spare  a  second.  The  fall  of  the  black 
pony  had  impressed  his  companions  tremendously,  and 
so  the  Archangels  could  not  profit  by  Faiz-Ullah's  bad 
behaviour. 

But  as  The  Maltese  Cat  said  when  "  time  "  was  called, 
and  the  four  came  back  blowing  and  dripping,  Faiz-Ullah 
ought  to  have  been  kicked  all  round  Umballa.  If  he 
did  not  behave  better  next  time  The  Maltese  Cat  prom 
ised  to  pull  out  his  Arab  tail  by  the  roots  and— eat  it. 

There  was  no  time  to  talk,  for  the  third  four  were 
ordered  out. 

The  third  quarter  of  a  game  is  generally  the  hottest, 
for  each  side  thinks  that  the  others  must  be  pumped; 
and  most  of  the  winning  play  in  a  game  is  made  about 
that  time. 

Lutyens  took  over  The  Maltese  Cat  with  a  pat  and  a 
hug,  for  Lutyens  valued  him  more  than  anything  else 
[280] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

in  the  world ;  Powell  had  Shikast,  a  little  grey  rat  with 
no  pedigree  and  no  manners  outside  polo;  Macnamara 
mounted  Bamboo,  the  largest  of  the  team;  and  Hughes 
Who  's  Who,  alias  The  Animal.  He  was  supposed  to 
have  Australian  blood  in  his  veins,  but  he  looked  like 
a  clothes-horse,  and  you  could  whack  his  legs  with  an 
iron  crow-bar  without  hurting  him. 

They  went  out  to  meet  the  very  flower  of  the  Arch 
angels'  team;  and  when  Who  's  Who  saw  their  ele 
gantly  booted  legs  and  their  beautiful  satin  skins,  he 
grinned  a  grin  through  his  light,  well-worn  bridle. 

"  My  word!  "  said  Who  's  Who.  "  We  must  give  'em 
a  little  football.  These  gentlemen  need  a  rubbing 
down." 

"No  biting,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  warningly;  for 
once  or  twice  in  his  career  Who  's  Who  had  been 
known  to  forget  himself  in  that  way. 

"  Who  said  anything  about  biting?  I  'm  not  playing 
tiddly-winks.  I  'm  playing  the  game." 

The  Archangels  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold, 
for  they  were  tired  of  football,  and  they  wanted  polo. 
They  got  it  more  and  more.  Just  after  the  game  began, 
Lutyens  hit  a  ball  that  was  coming  towards  him  rap 
idly,  and  it  rolled  in  the  air,  as  a  ball  sometimes  will, 
with  the  whirl  of  a  frightened  partridge.  Shikast 
heard,  but  could  not  see  it  for  the  minute,  though  he 
looked  everywhere  and  up  into  the  air  as  The  Maltese 
Cat  had  taught  him.  When  he  saw  it  ahead  and  over 
head  he  went  forward  with  Powell  as  fast  as  he  could 
put  foot  to  ground.  It  was  then  that  Powell,  a  quiet  and 
level-headed  man,  as  a  rule,  became  inspired,  and  played 
[281] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

a  stroke  that  sometimes  comes  off  successfully  after 
long  practice.  He  took  his  stick  in  both  hands,  and, 
standing  up  in  his  stirrups,  swiped  at  the  ball  in  the  air, 
Munipore  fashion.  There  was  one  second  of  paralysed 
astonishment,  and  then  all  four  sides  of  the  ground  went 
up  in  a  yell  of  applause  and  delight  as  the  ball  flew  true 
(you  could  see  the  amazed  Archangels  ducking  in  their 
saddles  to  dodge  the  line  of  flight,  and  looking  at  it 
with  open  mouths),  and  the  regimental  pipes  of  the 
Skidars  squealed  from  the  railings  as  long  as  the  pipers 
had  breath. 

Shikast  heard  the  stroke;  but  he  heard  the  head 
of  the  stick  fly  off  at  the  same  time.  Nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  ponies  out  of  a  thousand  would  have 
gone  tearing  on  after  the  ball  with  a  useless  player 
pulling  at  their  heads;  but  Powell  knew  him,  and  he 
knew  Powell;  and  the  instant  he  felt  Powell's  right  leg 
shift  a  trifle  on  the  saddle-flap,  he  headed  to  the  boun 
dary,  where  a  native  officer  was  frantically  waving  a 
new  stick.  Before  the  shouts  had  ended,  Powell  was 
armed  again. 

Once  before  in  his  life  The  Maltese  Cat  had  heard 
that  very  same  stroke  played  off  his  own  back,  and 
had  profited  by  the  confusion  it  wrought.  This  time 
he  acted  on  experience,  and  leaving  Bamboo  to  guard 
the  goal  in  case  of  accidents,  came  through  the  others 
like  a  flash,  head  and  tail  low— Lutyens  standing  up 
to  ease  him— swept  on  and  on  before  the  other  side 
knew  what  was  the  matter,  and  nearly  pitched  on  his 
head  between  the  Archangels'  goal-post  as  Lutyens 
kicked  the  ball  in  after  a  straight  scurry  of  a  hundred 
[282] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

and  fifty  yards.  If  there  was  one  thing  more  than 
another  upon  which  The  Maltese  Cat  prided  himself, 
it  was  on  this  quick,  streaking  kind  of  run  half  across 
the  ground.  He  did  not  believe  in  taking  balls  round 
the  field  unless  you  were  clearly  overmatched.  After 
this  they  gave  the  Archangels  five-minuted  football; 
and  an  expensive  fast  pony  hates  football  because  it 
rumples  his  temper. 

Who  's  Who  showed  himself  even  better  than  Polaris 
in  this  game.  He  did  not  permit  any  wriggling  away, 
but  bored  joyfully  into  the  scrimmage  as  if  he  had  his 
nose  in  a  feed-box  and  was  looking  for  something  nice. 
Little  Shikast  jumped  on  the  ball  the  minute  it  got  clear, 
and  every  time  an  Archangel  pony  followed  it,  he  found 
Shikast  standing  over  it,  asking  what  was  the  matter. 

"  If  we  can  live  through  this  quarter,"  said  The  Mal 
tese  Cat,  "  I  sha'n't  care.  Don't  take  it  out  of  your 
selves.  Let  them  do  the  lathering." 

So  the  ponies,  as  their  riders  explained  afterwards, 
"  shut-up."  The  Archangels  kept  them  tied  fast 
in  front  of  their  goal,  but  it  cost  the  Archangels' 
ponies  all  that  was  left  of  their  tempers;  and  ponies 
began  to  kick,  and  men  began  to  repeat  compliments, 
and  they  chopped  at  the  legs  of  Who  's  Who,  and  he 
set  his  teeth  and  stayed  where  he  was,  and  the  dust 
stood  up  like  a  tree  over  the  scrimmage  until  that  hot 
quarter  ended. 

They  found  the  ponies  very  excited  and  confident 
when  they  went  to  their  saises;  and  The  Maltese  Cat 
had  to  warn  them  that  the  worst  of  the  game  was 
coming. 

[283] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

"  Now  we  are  all  going  in  for  the  second  time,"  said 
he,  "and  they  are  trotting  out  fresh  ponies.  You 
think  you  can  gallop,  but  you  '11  find  you  can't;  and 
then  you  '11  be  sorry." 

"  But  two  goals  to  nothing  is  a  halter-long  lead,"  said 
Kittiwynk,  prancing. 

"  How  long  does  it  take  to  get  a  goal?"  The  Mal 
tese  Cat  answered.  "  For  pity's  sake,  don't  run  away 
with  a  notion  that  the  game  is  half-won  just  because 
we  happen  to  be  in  luck  now!  They  '11  ride  you  into 
the  grand  stand,  if  they  can;  you  must  not  give  'em  a 
chance.  Follow  the  ball." 

"Football,  as  usual?"  said  Polaris.  "My  hock  's 
half  as  big  as  a  nose-bag." 

"  Don't  let  them  have  a  look  at  the  ball,  if  you  can 
help  it.  Now  leave  me  alone.  I  must  get  all  the  rest 
I  can  before  the  last  quarter." 

He  hung  down  his  head  and  let  all  his  muscles  go 
slack,  Shikast,  Bamboo,  and  Who  's  Who  copying  his 
example. 

"  Better  not  watch  the  game,"  he  said.  "  We  are  n't 
playing,  and  we  shall  only  take  it  out  of  ourselves  if  we 
grow  anxious.  Look  at  the  ground  and  pretend  it  's 
fly-tune." 

They  did  their  best,  but  it  was  hard  advice  to  follow. 
The  hooves  were  drumming  and  the  sticks  were  rattling 
all  up  and  down  the  ground,  and  yells  of  applause  from 
the  English  troops  told  that  the  Archangels  were  press 
ing  the  Skidars  hard.  The  native  soldiers  behind  the 
ponieg  groaned  and  grunted,  and  said  things  in  under- 
[284] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

tones,  and  presently  they  heard  a  long-drawn  shout  and 
a  clatter  of  hurrahs ! 

"One  to  the  Archangels,"  said  Shikast,  without 
raising  his  head.  "  Time  's  nearly  up.  Oh,  my  sire— 
and  dam!" 

"Faiz-Ullah,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  "  if  you  don't 
play  to  the  last  nail  in  your  shoes  this  time,  I  '11  kick 
you  on  the  ground  before  all  the  other  ponies." 

"  I  '11  do  my  best  when  my  time  comes,"  said  the 
little  Arab,  sturdily. 

The  saises  looked  at  each  other  gravely  as  they  rubbed 
their  ponies'  legs.  This  was  the  time  when  long  purses 
began  to  tell,  and  everybody  knew  it.  Kittiwynk  and 
the  others  came  back,  the  sweat  dripping  over  their 
hooves  and  their  tails  telling  sad  stories. 

"They  're  better  than  we  are,"  said  Shiraz.  "I 
knew  how  it  would  be." 

"  Shut  your  big  head,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat;  "  we  've 
one  goal  to  the  good  yet." 

"  Yes;  but  it 's  two  Arabs  and  two  country-breds  to 
play  now,"  said  Corks.  "Faiz-Ullah,  remember!" 
He  spoke  in  a  biting  voice. 

As  Lutyens  mounted  Grey  Dawn  he  looked  at  his 
men,  and  they  did  not  look  pretty.  They  were  covered 
with  dust  and  sweat  in  streaks.  Their  yellow  boots 
were  almost  black,  their  wrists  were  red  and  lumpy, 
and  their  eyes  seemed  two  inches  deep  in  their  heads; 
but  the  expression  in  the  eyes  was  satisfactory. 

"  Did  you  take  anything  at  tiffin?"  said  Lutyens;  and 
the  team  shook  their  heads.  They  were  too  dry  to  talk. 
[285] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

"  All  right.  The  Archangels  did.  They  are  worse 
pumped  than  we  are." 

"  They  've  got  the  better  ponies,"  said  Powell.  "  I 
sha'n't  be  sorry  when  this  business  is  over." 

That  fifth  quarter  was  a  painful  one  in  every  way. 
Faiz-Ullah  played  like  a  little  red  demon,  and  The  Rab 
bit  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  and  Benami  rode 
straight  at  anything  and  everything  that  came  in  his 
way;  while  the  umpires  on  their  ponies  wheeled  like 
gulls  outside  the  shifting  game.  But  the  Archangels  had 
the  better  mounts,— they  had  kept  their  racers  till  late 
in  the  game,— and  never  allowed  the  Skidars  to  play 
football.  They  hit  the  ball  up  and  down  the  width 
of  the  ground  till  Benami  and  the  rest  were  out 
paced.  Then  they  went  forward,  and  time  and  again 
Lutyens  and  Grey  Dawn  were  just,  and  only  just, 
able  to  send  the  ball  away  with  a  long,  spitting  back 
hander.  Grey  Dawn  forgot  that  he  was  an  Arab ;  and 
turned  from  grey  to  blue  as  he  galloped.  Indeed,  he 
forgot  too  well,  for  he  did  not  keep  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  as  an  Arab  should,  but  stuck  out  his  nose  and 
scuttled  for  the  dear  honour  of  the  game.  They  had 
watered  the  ground  once  or  twice  between  the  quarters, 
and  a  careless  waterman  had  emptied  the  last  of  his 
skinful  all  in  one  place  near  the  Skidars'  goal.  It 
was  close  to  the  end  of  the  play,  and  for  the  tenth  time 
Grey  Dawn  was  bolting  after  the  ball,  when  his  near 
hind-foot  slipped  on  the  greasy  mud,  and  he  rolled  over 
and  over,  pitching  Lutyens  just  clear  of  the  goal-post; 
and  the  triumphant  Archangels  made  their  goal.  Then 
"time"  was  called— two  goals  all;  but  Lutyens  had 
[286] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

to  be  helped  up,  and  Grey  Dawn  rose  with  his  near 
hind-leg  strained  somewhere. 

"  What  's  the  damage?  "  said  Powell,  his  arm  around 
Lutyens. 

"  Collar-bone,  of  course,"  said  Lutyens,  between  his 
teeth.  It  was  the  third  time  he  had  broken  it  in  two 
years,  and  it  hurt  him. 

Powell  and  the  others  whistled. 

"  Game  's  up,"  said  Hughes. 

"  Hold  on.  We  've  five  good  minutes  yet,  and  it  is  n't 
my  right  hand.  We  '11  stick  it  out." 

"  I  say,"  said  the  Captain  of  the  Archangels,  trotting 
up,  "  are  you  hurt,  Lutyens?  We  '11  wait  if  you  care 
to  put  in  a  substitute.  I  wish— I  mean— the  fact  is,  you 
fellows  deserve  this  game  if  any  team  does.  'Wish  we 
could  give  you  a  man,  or  some  of  our  ponies— or  some 
thing." 

"  You  're  awfully  good,  but  we  '11  play  it  to  a  finish, 
I  think." 

The  Captain  of  the  Archangels  stared  for  a  little. 
"That  's  not  half  bad,"  he  said,  and  went  back 
to  his  own  side,  while  Lutyens  borrowed  a  scarf 
from  one  of  his  native  officers  and  made  a  sling  of  it. 
Then  an  Archangel  galloped  up  with  a  big  bath-sponge, 
and  advised  Lutyens  to  put  it  under  his  armpit  to  ease 
his  shoulder,  and  between  them  they  tied  up  his  left  arm 
scientifically ;  and  one  of  the  native  officers  leaped  for 
ward  with  four  long  glasses  that  fizzed  and  bubbled. 

The  team  looked  at  Lutyens  piteously,  and  he  nodded. 
It  was  the  last  quarter,  and  nothing  would  matter  after 
that.  They  drank  out  the  dark  golden  drink,  and 
[287] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

wiped  their  moustaches,  and  things  looked  more  hope 
ful. 

The  Maltese  Cat  had  put  his  nose  into  the  front  of 
Lutyens'  shirt  and  was  trying  to  say  how  sorry  he  was. 

"He  knows,"  said  Lutyens,  proudly.  "The  beg 
gar  knows.  I  've  played  him  without  a  bridle  be 
fore  now— for  fun." 

"  It  's  no  fun  now,"  said  Powell.  "  But  we  have  n't 
a  decent  substitute." 

"No,"  said  Lutyens.  "  It  's  the  last  quarter,  and 
we  've  got  to  make  our  goal  and  win.  I  '11  trust  The 
Cat." 

"If  you  fall  this  time,  you  '11  suffer  a  little,"  said 
Macnamar  a . 

"  I  '11  trust  The  Cat,"  said  Lutyens. 

"You  hear  that?"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  proudly, 
to  the  others.  "  It  's  worth  while  playing  polo  for  ten 
years  to  have  that  said  of  you.  Now  then,  my  sons, 
come  along.  We  '11  kick  up  a  little  bit,  just  to  show 
the  Archangels  this  team  have  n't  suffered." 

And,  sure  enough,  as  they  went  on  to  the  ground,  The 
Maltese  Cat,  after  satisfying  himself  that  Lutyens  was 
home  in  the  saddle,  kicked  out  three  or  four  times,  and 
Lutyens  laughed.  The  reins  were  caught  up  anyhow 
in  the  tips  of  his  strapped  left  hand,  and  he  never  pre 
tended  to  rely  on  them.  He  knew  The  Cat  would  an 
swer  to  the  least  pressure  of  the  leg,  and  by  way  of 
showing  off— for  his  shoulder  hurt  him  very  much— he 
bent  the  little  fellow  in  a  close  figure-of-eight  in  and  out 
between  the  goal-posts.  There  was  a  roar  from  the 
native  officers  and  men,  who  dearly  loved  a  piece  of 
[288] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

dugdbashi  (horse-trick  work),  as  they  called  it,  and  the 
pipes  very  quietly  and  scornfully  droned  out  the  first 
bars  of  a  common  bazaar  tune  called  ' '  Freshly  Fresh  and 
Newly  New,"  just  as  a  warning  to  the  other  regiments 
that  the  Skidars  were  fit.  All  the  natives  laughed. 

"  And  now,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat,  as  they  took  their 
place,  * '  remember  that  this  is  the  last  quarter,  and  fol 
low  the  ball!" 

"  Don't  need  to  be  told,"  said  Who  's  Who. 

"  Let  me  go  on.  All  those  people  on  all  four  sides 
will  begin  to  crowd  in— just  as  they  did  at  Malta.  You  '11 
hear  people  calling  out,  and  moving  forward  and  being 
pushed  back ;  and  that  is  going  to  nlake  the  Archangel 
ponies  very  unhappy.  But  if  a  ball  is  struck  to  the 
boundary,  you  go  after  it,  and  let  the  people  get  out  of 
your  way.  I  went  over  the  pole  of  a  four-in-hand  once, 
and  picked  a  game  out  of  the  dust  by  it.  Back  me  up 
when  I  run,  and  follow  the  ball." 

There  was  a  sort  of  an  all-round  sound  of  sympathy  and 
wonder  as  the  last  quarter  opened,  and  then  there  began 
exactly  what  The  Maltese  Cat  had  foreseen.  People 
crowded  in  close  to  the  boundaries,  and  the  Archangels' 
ponies  kept  looking  sideways  at  the  narrowing  space. 
If  you  know  how  a  man  feels  to  be  cramped  at  tennis— 
not  because  he  wants  to  run  out  of  the  court,  but  because 
he  likes  to  know  that  he  can  at  a  pinch— you  will  guess 
how  ponies  must  feel  when  they  are  playing  in  a  box  of 
human  beings. 

"  I  '11  bend  some  of  those  men  if  I  can  get  away,"  said 
Who's  Who,  as  he  rocketed  behind  the  ball;  and  Bamboo 
nodded  without  speaking.  They  were  playing  the  last 
[289] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

ounce  in  them,  and  The  Maltese  Cat  had  left  the  goal 
undefended  to  join  them.  Lutyens  gave  him  every 
order  that  he  could  to  bring  him  back,  but  this  was  the 
first  time  in  his  career  that  the  little  wise  grey  had  ever 
played  polo  on  his  own  responsibility,  and  he  was  going 
to  make  the  most  of  it. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  said  Hughes,  as  The  Cat 
crossed  in  front  of  him  and  rode  off  an  Archangel. 

"  The  Cat 's  in  charge— mind  the  goal!"  shouted  Lut- 
yens,  and  bowing  forward  hit  the  ball  full,  and  followed 
on,  forcing  the  Archangels  towards  their  own  goal. 

"No  football,"  said  The  Maltese  Cat.  "Keep  the 
ball  by  the  boundaries  and  cramp  'em.  Play  open  order, 
and  drive  'em  to  the  boundaries." 

Across  and  across  the  ground  in  big  diagonals  flew  the 
ball,  and  whenever  it  came  to  a  flying  rush  and  a  stroke 
close  to  the  boundaries  the  Archangel  ponies  moved 
stiffly.  They  did  not  care  to  go  headlong  at  a  wall  of 
men  and  carriages,  though  if  the  ground  had  been  open 
they  could  have  turned  on  a  sixpence. 

"  Wriggle  her  up  the  sides,"  said  The  Cat.  "  Keep 
her  close  to  the  crowd.  They  hate  the  carriages.  Shi- 
kast,  keep  her  up  this  side. ' ' 

Shikast  and  Powell  lay  left  and  right  behind  the  uneasy 
scuffle  of  an  open  scrimmage,  and  every  time  the  ball 
was  hit  away  Shikast  galloped  on  it  at  such  an  angle 
that  Powell  was  forced  to  hit  it  towards  the  boundary ; 
and  when  the  crowd  had  been  driven  away  from  that 
side,  Lutyens  would  send  the  ball  over  to  the  other,  and 
Shikast  would  slide  desperately  after  it  till  his  friends 
came  down  to  help.  It  was  billiards,  and  no  football, 
[290] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

this  time— billiards  in  a  corner  pocket ;  and  the  cues  were 
not  well  chalked. 

* '  If  they  get  us  out  in  the  middle  of  the  ground  they  '11 
walk  away  from  us.  Dribble  her  along  the  sides, ' '  cried 
The  Maltese  Cat. 

So  they  dribbled  all  along  the  boundary,  where  a  pony 
could  not  come  on  their  right-hand  side;  and  the  Arch 
angels  were  furious,  and  the  umpires  had  to  neglect  the 
game  to  shout  at  the  people  to  get  back,  and  several 
blundering  mounted  policemen  tried  to  restore  order,  all 
close  to  the  scrimmage,  and  the  nerves  of  the  Archangels' 
ponies  stretched  and  broke  like  cob- webs. 

Five  or  six  times  an  Archangel  hit  the  ball  up  into  the 
middle  of  the  ground,  and  each  time  the  watchful  Shi- 
kast  gave  Powell  his  chance  to  send  it  back,  and  after 
each  return,  when  the  dust  had  settled,  men  could  see 
that  the  Skidars  had  gained  a  few  yards. 

Every  now  and  again  there  were  shouts  of  '  *  Side !  Off 
side!"  from  the  spectators;  but  the  teams  were  too  busy 
to  care,  and  the  umpires  had  all  they  could  do  to  keep 
their  maddened  ponies  clear  of  the  scuffle. 

At  last  Lutyens  missed  a  short  easy  stroke,  and  the 
Skidars  had  to  fly  back  helter-skelter  to  protect  their 
own  goal,  Shikast  leading.  Powell  stopped  the  ball  with 
a  backhander  when  it  was  not  fifty  yards  from  the  goal 
posts,  and  Shikast  spun  round  with  a  wrench  that  nearly 
hoisted  Powell  out  of  his  saddle. 

"  Now  's  our  last  chance,"  said  The  Cat,  wheeling  like 
a  cockchafer  on  a  pin.  "  We  've  got  to  ride  it  out. 
Come  along." 

Lutyens  felt  the  little  chap  take  a  deep  breath,  and,  as 
[291] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

it  were,  crouch  under  his  rider.  The  ball  was  hop 
ping  towards  the  right-hand  boundary,  an  Archangel 
riding  for  it  with  both  spurs  and  a  whip;  but  neither 
spur  nor  whip  would  make  his  pony  stretch  himself  as 
he  neared  the  crowd.  The  Maltese  Cat  glided  under  his 
very  nose,  picking  up  his  hind  legs  sharp,  for  there  was 
not  a  foot  to  spare  between  his  quarters  and  the  other 
pony's  bit.  It  was  as  neat  an  exhibition  as  fancy  figure- 
skating.  Lutyens  hit  with  all  the  strength  he  had  left, 
but  the  stick  slipped  a  little  in  his  hand,  and  the  ball  flew 
off  to  the  left  instead  of  keeping  close  to  the  boundary. 
Who  's  Who  was  far  across  the  ground,  thinking  hard  as 
he  galloped.  He  repeated  stride  for  stride  The  Cat's 
manoeuvres  with  another  Archangel  pony,  nipping  the 
ball  away  from  under  his  bridle,  and  clearing  his  oppo 
nent  by  half  a  fraction  of  an  inch,  for  Who  %  Who  was 
clumsy  behind.  Then  he  drove  away  towards  the  right 
as  The  Maltese  Cat  came  up  from  the  left ;  and  Bamboo 
held  a  middle  course  exactly  between  them.  The  three 
were  making  a  sort  of  Government-broad-arrow-shaped 
attack;  and  there  was  only  the  Archangels'  back  to 
guard  the  goal;  but  immediately  behind  them  were 
three  Archangels  racing  all  they  knew,  and  mixed  up 
with  them  was  Powell  sending  Shikast  along  on  what 
he  felt  was  their  last  hope.  It  takes  a  very  good  man 
to  stand  up  to  the  rush  of  seven  crazy  ponies  in  the  last 
quarters  of  a  Cup  game,  when  men  are  riding  with  their 
necks  for  sale,  and  the  ponies  are  delirious.  The  Arch 
angels'  back  missed  his  stroke  and  pulled  aside  just 
in  time  to  let  the  rush  go  by.  Bamboo  and  Who  's 
Who  shortened  stride  to  give  The  Cat  room,  and  Lutyens 
[292] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

got  the  goal  with  a  clean,  smooth,  smacking  stroke 
that  was  heard  all  over  the  field.  But  there  was  no 
stopping  the  ponies.  They  poured  through  the  goal 
posts  in  one  mixed  mob,  winners  and  losers  together,  for 
the  pace  had  been  terrific.  The  Maltese  Cat  knew  by 
experience  what  would  happen,  and,  to  save  Lutyens, 
turned  to  the  right  with  one  last  effort,  that  strained  a 
back-sinew  beyond  hope  of  repair.  As  he  did  so  he 
heard  the  right-hand  goal-post  crack  as  a  pony  cannoned 
into  it— crack,  splinter  and  fall  like  a  mast.  It  had 
been  sawed  three  parts  through  in  case  of  accidents,  but 
it  upset  the  pony  nevertheless,  and  he  blundered  into 
another,  who  blundered  into  the  left-hand  post,  and  then 
there  was  confusion  and  dust  and  wood.  Bamboo  was 
lying  on  the  ground,  seeing  stars;  an  Archangel  pony 
rolled  beside  him,  breathless  and  angry ;  Shikast  had  sat 
down  dog-fashion  to  avoid  falling  over  the  others,  and 
was  sliding  along  on  his  little  bobtail  in  a  cloud  of  dust ; 
and  Powell  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  hammering  with 
his  stick  and  trying  to  cheer.  All  the  others  were  shout 
ing  at  the  top  of  what  was  left  of  their  voices,  and  the 
men  who  had  been  spilt  were  shouting  too.  As  soon 
as  the  people  saw  no  one  was  hurt,  ten  thousand  native 
and  English  shouted  and  clapped  and  yelled,  and  before 
any  one  could  stop  them  the  pipers  of  the  Skidars  broke 
on  to  the  ground,  with  all  the  native  officers  and  men 
behind  them,  and  marched  up  and  down,  playing  a  wild 
Northern  tune  called  "  Zakhme  Bagan,"  and  through 
the  insolent  blaring  of  the  pipes  and  the  high-pitched 
native  yells  you  could  hear  the  Archangels'  band  ham 
mering,  "  For  they  are  all  jolly  good  fellows,"  and  then 
[293] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

reproachfully  to  the  losing  team,  "  Ooh,  Kafoozalum! 
Kafoozalum!  Kafoozalum!" 

Besides  all  these  things  and  many  more,  there  was  a 
Commander-in-chief,  and  an  Inspect  or- General  of  Cav 
alry,  and  the  principal  veterinary  officer  of  all  India 
standing  on  the  top  of  a  regimental  coach,  yelling  like 
school-boys;  and  brigadiers  and  colonels  and  commis 
sioners,  and  hundreds  of  pretty  ladies  joined  the  chorus. 
But  The  Maltese  Cat  stood  with  his  head  down,  wonder 
ing  how  many  legs  were  left  to  him;  and  Lutyens 
watched  the  men  and  ponies  pick  themselves  out  of  the 
wreck  of  the  two  goal-posts,  and  he  patted  The  Maltese 
Cat  very  tenderly. 

"  I  say,"  said  the  Captain  of  the  Archangels,  spitting 
a  pebble  out  of  his  mouth,  ' '  will  you  take  three  thousand 
for  that  pony— as  he  stands?  " 

"  No  thank  you.  I  've  an  idea  he  's  saved  my  life," 
said  Lutyens,  getting  off  and  lying  down  at  full  length. 
Both  teams  were  on  the  ground  too,  waving  their  boots 
in  the  air,  and  coughing  and  drawing  deep  breaths,  as 
the  saises  ran  up  to  take  away  the  ponies,  and  an  officious 
water-carrier  sprinkled  the  players  with  dirty  water  till 
they  sat  up. 

"  My  aunt!  "  said  Powell,  rubbing  his  back,  and  look 
ing  at  the  stumps  of  the  goal-posts,  "  That  was  a 
game! " 

They  played  it  over  again,  every  stroke  of  it,  that 
night  at  the  big  dinner,  when  the  Free-for-All  Cup  was 
filled  and  passed  down  the  table,  and  emptied  and  filled 
again,  and  everybody  made  most  eloquent  speeches. 
About  two  in  the  morning,  when  there  might  have  been 
[294] 


THE    MALTESE    CAT 

some  singing,  a  wise  little,  plain  little,  grey  little  head 
looked  in  through  the  open  door. 

*'  Hurrah!  Bring  him  in,"  said  the  Archangels;  and 
his  sais,  who  was  very  happy  indeed,  patted  The  Maltese 
Cat  on  the  flank,  and  he  limped  in  to  the  blaze  of  light 
and  the  glittering  uniforms,  looking  for  Lutyens.  He 
was  used  to  messes,  and  men's  bedrooms,  and  places 
where  ponies  are  not  usually  encouraged,  and  in  his 
youth  had  jumped  on  and  off  a  mess-table  for  a  bet. 
So  he  behaved  himself  very  politely,  and  ate  bread 
dipped  in  salt,  and  was  petted  all  round  the  table,  mov 
ing  gingerly ;  and  they  drank  his  health,  because  he  had 
done  more  to  win  the  Cup  than  any  man  or  horse  on  the 
ground. 

That  was  glory  and  honour  enough  for  the  rest  of  his 
days,  and  The  Maltese  Cat  did  not  complain  much  when 
the  veterinary  surgeon  said  that  he  would  be  no  good 
for  polo  any  more.  When  Lutyens  married,  his  wife 
did  not  allow  him  to  play,  so  he  was  forced  to  be  an 
umpire;  and  his  pony  on  these  occasions  was  a  flea-bit 
ten  grey  with  a  neat  polo-tail,  lame  all  round,  but  des 
perately  quick  on  his  feet,  and,  as  everybody  knew,  Past 
Pluperfect  Prestissimo  Player  of  the  Game, 


[295] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 


"BREAD  UPON   THE  WATERS" 

IF  you  remember  my  improper  friend  Brugglesmith, 
you  will  also  bear  in  mind  his  friend  McPhee,  Chief 
Engineer  of  the  Breslau,  whose  dingey  Brugglesmith 
tried  to  steal.  His  apologies  for  the  performances  of 
Brugglesmith  may  one  day  be  told  in  their  proper  place : 
the  tale  before  us  concerns  McPhee.  He  was  never  a 
racing  engineer,  and  took  special  pride  in  saying  as 
much  before  the  Liverpool  men ;  but  he  had  a  thirty- two 
years'  knowledge  of  machinery  and  the  humours  of  ships. 
One  side  of  his  face  had  been  wrecked  through  the  burst 
ing  of  a  pressure-gauge  in  the  days  when  men  knew  less 
than  they  do  now,  and  his  nose  rose  grandly  out  of  the 
wreck,  like  a  club  in  a  public  riot.  There  were  cuts  and 
lumps  on  his  head,  and  he  would  guide  your  forefinger 
through  his  short  iron-grey  hair  and  tell  you  how  he 
had  come  by  his  trade-marks.  He  owned  all  sorts  of 
certificates  of  extra-competency,  and  at  the  bottom  of 
his  cabin  chest  of  drawers,  where  he  kept  the  photo 
graph  of  his  wife,  were  two  or  three  Royal  Humane  So 
ciety  medals  for  saving  lives  at  sea.  Professionally— it 
was  different  when  crazy  steerage-passengers  jumped 
[299] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

overboard— professionally,  McPhee  does  not  approve  of 
saving  life  at  sea,  and  he  has  often  told  me  that  a  new  Hell 
awaits  stokers  and  trimmers  who  sign  for  a  strong  man's 
pay  and  fall  sick  the  second  day  out.  He  believes  in 
throwing  boots  at  fourth  and  fifth  engineers  when  they 
wake  him  up  at  night  with  word  that  a  bearing  is  red- 
hot,  all  because  a  lamp's  glare  is  reflected  red  from  the 
twirling  metal.  He  believes  that  there  are  only  two 
poets  in  the  world ;  one  being  Robert  Burns,  of  course, 
and  the  other  Gerald  Massey.  When  he  has  time  for 
novels  he  reads  Wilkie  Collins  and  Charles  Reade— chiefly 
the  latter— and  knows  whole  pages  of  "Very  Hard 
Cash  "  by  heart.  In  the  saloon  his  table  is  next  to  the 
captain's,  and  he  drinks  only  water  while  his  engines 
work. 

He  was  good  to  me  when  we  first  met,  because  I  did  not 
ask  questions,  and  believed  in  Charles  Reade  as  a  most 
shamefully  neglected  author.  Later  he  approved  of  my 
writings  to  the  extent  of  one  pamphlet  of  twenty-four 
pages  that  I  wrote  for  Holdock,  Steiner  &  Chase,  own 
ers  of  the  line,  when  they  bought  some  ventilating 
patent  and  fitted  it  to  the  cabins  of  the  Breslau,  Span- 
dau,  and  Koltzau.  The  purser  of  the  Breslau  recom 
mended  me  to  Holdock 's  secretary  for  the  job;  and 
Holdock,  who  is  a  Wesleyan  Methodist,  invited  me  to 
his  house,  and  gave  me  dinner  with  the  governess  when 
the  others  had  finished,  and  placed  the  plans  and  specifi 
cations  in  my  hand,  and  I  wrote  the  pamphlet  that  same 
afternoon.  It  was  called  "  Comfort  in  the  Cabin,"  and 
brought  me  seven  pound  ten,  cash  down— an  important 
sum  of  money  in  those  days;  and  the  governess,  who 
[300] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

was  teaching  Master  John  Holdock  his  scales,  told  me 
that  Mrs.  Holdock  had  told  her  to  keep  an  eye  on  me, 
in  case  I  went  away  with  coats  from  the  hat-rack. 
McPhee  liked  that  pamphlet  enormously,  for  it  was 
composed  in  the  Bouverie-Byzantine  style,  with  baroque 
and  rococo  embellishments;  and  afterwards  he  intro 
duced  me  to  Mrs.  McPhee,  who  succeeded  Dinah  in  my 
heart ;  for  Dinah  was  half  a  world  away,  and  it  is  whole 
some  and  antiseptic  to  love  such  a  woman  as  Janet 
McPhee.  They  lived  in  a  little  twelve-pound  house,  close 
to  the  shipping.  When  McPhee  was  away  Mrs.  McPhee 
read  the  Lloyds  column  in  the  papers,  and  called  on  the 
wives  of  senior  engineers  of  equal  social  standing.  Once 
or  twice,  too,  Mrs.  Holdock  visited  Mrs.  McPhee  in  a 
brougham  with  celluloid  fittings,  and  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that,  after  she  had  played  owner's  wife  long 
enough,  they  talked  scandal.  The  Holdocks  lived  in  an 
old-fashioned  house  with  a  big  brick  garden  not  a  mile 
from  the  McPhees,  for  they  stayed  by  their  money  as 
their  money  stayed  by  them;  and  in  summer  you  met 
their  brougham  solemnly  junketing  by  Theydon  Bois  or 
Loughton.  But  I  was  Mrs.  McPhee's  friend,  for  she 
allowed  me  to  convoy  her  westward,  sometimes,  to  thea 
tres  where  she  sobbed  or  laughed  or  shivered  with  a 
simple  heart ;  and  she  introduced  me  to  a  new  world  of 
doctors'  wives,  captains'  wives,  and  engineers'  wives, 
whose  whole  talk  and  thought  centred  in  and  about  ships 
and  lines  of  ships  you  have  never  heard  of.  There  were 
sailing-ships,  with  stewards  and  mahogany  and  maple 
saloons,  trading  to  Australia,  taking  cargoes  of  con 
sumptives  and  hopeless  drunkards  for  whom  a  sea-voy- 
[301] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

age  was  recommended;  there  were  frowzy  little  West 
African  boats,  full  of  rats  and  cockroaches,  where  men 
died  anywhere  but  in  their  bunks ;  there  were  Brazilian 
boats  whose  cabins  could  be  hired  for  merchandise,  that 
went  out  loaded  nearly  awash;  there  were  Zanzibar  and 
Mauritius  steamers  and. wonderful  reconstructed  boats 
that  plied  to  the  other  side  of  Borneo.  These  were  loved 
and  known,  for  they  earned  our  bread  and  a  little  but 
ter,  and  we  despised  the  big  Atlantic  boats,  and  made 
fun  of  the  P.  &  O.  and  Orient  liners,  and  swore  by  our 
respective  owners— Wesleyan,  Baptist,  or  Presbyterian, 
as  the  case  might  be. 

I  had  only  just  come  back  to  England  when  Mrs. 
McPhee  invited  me  to  dinner  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  notepaper  was  almost  bridal  in  its 
scented  creaminess.  When  I  reached  the  house  I  sarw 
that  there  were  new  curtains  in  the  window  that  must 
have  cost  forty-five  shillings  a  pair;  and  as  Mrs.  McPhee 
drew  me  into  the  little  marble-papered  hall,  she  looked 
at  me  keenly,  and  cried : 

"  Have  ye  not  heard?  What  d'  ye  think  o'  the  hat- 
rack?  " 

Now,  that  hat-rack  was  oak— thirty  shillings,  at  least. 
McPhee  came  down-stairs  with  a  sober  foot— he  steps  as 
lightly  as  a  cat,  for  all  his  weight,  when  he  is  at  sea— and 
shook  hands  in  a  new  and  awful  manner— a  parody  of 
old  Holdock's  style  when  he  says  good-bye  to  his  skip 
pers.  I  perceived  at  once  that  a  legacy  had  come  to 
him,  but  I  held  my  peace,  though  Mrs.  McPhee  begged 
me  every  thirty  seconds  to  eat  a  great  deal  and  say  noth 
ing.  It  was  rather  a  mad  sort  of  meal,  because  McPhee 
[302] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

and  his  wife  took  hold  of  hands  like  little  children 
(they  always  do  after  voyages),  and  nodded  and  winked 
and  choked  and  gurgled,  and  hardly  ate  a  mouthful. 

A  female  servant  came  in  and  waited;  though  Mrs. 
McPhee  had  told  me  time  and  again  that  she  would 
thank  no  one  to  do  her  housework  while  she  had  her 
health.  But  this  was  a  servant  with  a  cap,  and  I  saw 
Mrs.  McPhee  swell  and  swell  under  her  grcmmce-coloured 
gown.  There  is  no  small  free-board  to  Janet  McPhee,  nor 
is  garance  any  subdued  tint;  and  with  all  this  unex 
plained  pride  and  glory  in  the  air  I  felt  like  watching 
fireworks  without  knowing  the  festival.  When  the  maid 
had  removed  the  cloth  she  brought  a  pineapple  that 
would  have  cost  half  a  guinea  at  that  season  (only 
McPhee  has  his  own  way  of  getting  such  things J,,  and  a 
Canton  china  bowl  of  dried  lichis,  and  a  glass  plate  of 
preserved  ginger,  and  a  small  jar  of  sacred  and  Imperial 
chow-chow  that  perfumed  the  room.  McPhee  gets  it 
from  a  Dutchman  in  Java,  and  I  think  he  doctors  it  with 
liqueurs.  But  the  crown  of  the  feast  was  some  Madeira 
of  the  kind  you  can  only  come  by  if  you  know  the  wine 
and  the  man.  A  little  maize- wrapped  fig  of  clotted 
Madeira  cigars  went  with  the  wine,  and  the  rest  was  a 
pale  blue  smoky  silence ;  Janet,  in  her  splendour,  smiling 
on  us  two,  and  patting  McPhee'-s  hand. 

"We  '11  drink,"  said  McPhee,  slowly,  rubbing  his 
chin,  ' '  to  the  eternal  damnation  o'  Holdock,  Steiner  & 
Chase." 

Of  course  I  answered  "  Amen,"  though  I  had  made 
seven  pound  ten  shillings  out  of  the  firm.     McPhee' s 
enemies  were  mine,  and  I  was  drinking  his  Madeira. 
[303] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  Ye  've  heard  nothing? "  said  Janet.  u  Not  a  word, 
not  a  whisper?" 

"Not  a  word,  nor  a  whisper.   On  my  word,  I  have  not. ' ' 

"  Tell  him,  Mac,"  said  she;  and  that  is  another  proof 
of  Janet's  goodness  and  wifely  love.  A  smaller  woman 
would  have  babbled  first,  but  Janet  is  five  feet  nine  in 
her  stockings. 

' '  We  're  rich, ' '  said  McPhee.    I  shook  hands  all  round. 

"  We  're  damned  rich,"  he  added.  I  shook  hands  all 
round  a  second  time. 

"I  '11  go  to  sea  no  more— unless— there  's  no  sayin' 
— a  private  yacht,  maybe— wi'  a  small  an'  handy  auxil 
iary." 

"  It 's  not  enough  for  that, ' '  said  Janet.  * '  We  're  fair 
rich— well-to-do,  but  no  more.  A  new  gown  for  church, 
and  one  for  the  theatre.  We  '11  have  it  made  west." 

"  How  much  is  it? "  I  asked. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  pounds."  I  drew  a  long 
breath.  * '  An'  I '  ve  been  earnin'  twenty-five  an'  twenty 
pound  a  month!  "  The  last  words  came  away  with  a 
roar,  as  though  the  wide  world  was  conspiring  to  beat 
him  down. 

u  All  this  time  I  'm  waiting,"  I  said.  "I  know 
nothing  since  last  September.  Was  it  left  you? " 

They  laughed  aloud  together.  "It  was  left,"  said 
McPhee,  choking.  "  Ou,  ay,  it  was  left.  That  's  vara 
good.  Of  course  it  was  left.  Janet,  d'  ye  note  that? 
It  was  left.  Now  if  you  'd  put  that  in  your  pamphlet 
it  would  have  been  vara  jocose.  It  was  left."  He 
slapped  his  thigh  and  roared  till  the  wine  quivered  in 
the  decanter. 

[304] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

The  Scotch  are  a  great  people,  but  they  are  apt  to 
hang  over  a  joke  too  long,  particularly  when  no  one  can 
see  the  point  but  themselves. 

"  When  I  rewrite  my  pamphlet  I  '11  put  it  in,  McPhee. 
Only  I  must  know  something  more  first. ' ' 

McPhee  thought  for  the  length  of  half  a  cigar,  while 
Janet  caught  my  eye  and  led  it  round  the  room  to  one 
new  thing  after  another— the  new  vine-pattern  carpet, 
the  new  chiming  rustic  clock  between  the  models  of  the 
Colombo  outrigger-boats,  the  new  inlaid  sideboard  with 
a  purple  cut-glass  flower-stand,  the  fender  of  gilt  and 
brass,  and  last,  the  new  black-and-gold  piano. 

"  In  October  o'  last  year  the  Board  sacked  me,"  began 
McPhee.  u  In  October  o'  last  year  the  Breslau  came  in 
for  winter  overhaul.  She  'd  been  runnin'  eight  months 
—two  hunder  an'  forty  days— an'  I  was  three  days 
makin'  up  my  indents,  when  she  went  to  dry-dock. 
All  told,  mark  you,  it  was  this  side  o'  three  hunder 
pound— to  be  preceese,  two  hunder  an'  eighty-six  pound 
four  shillings.  There  's  not  another  man  could  ha' 
nursed  the  Breslau  for  eight  months  to  that  tune. 
Never  again— never  again!  They  may  send  their  boats 
to  the  bottom,  for  aught  I  care." 

"  There  's  no  need,"  said  Janet,  softly.  "  We  're  done 
wi'  Holdock,  Steiner  &  Chase." 

"It  's  irritatin',  Janet,  it  's  just  irritatin'.  I  ha' 
been  justified  from  first  to  last,  as  the  world  knows,  but 
—but  I  canna  forgie  'em.  Ay,  wisdom  is  justified  o' 
her  children ;  an'  any  other  man  than  me  wad  ha'  made 
the  indent  eight  hunder.  Hay  was  our  skipper— ye  '11 
have  met  him.  They  shifted  him  to  the  Torgau,  an'  bade 
[305] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

me  wait  for  the  Breslau  under  young  Bannister.  Ye  '11 
obsairve  there  'd  been  a  new  election  on  the  Board.  I 
heard  the  shares  were  sellin'  hither  an'  yon,  an'  the 
major  part  of  the  Board  was  new  to  me.  The  old  Board 
would  ne'er  ha'  done  it.  They  trusted  me.  But  the 
new  Board  were  all  for  reorganisation.  Young  Steiner— 
Steiner's  son— the  Jew,  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  an'  they 
did  not  think  it  worth  their  while  to  send  me  word. 
The  first  I  knew— an'  I  was  Chief  Engineer— was  the 
notice  of  the  line's  winter  sailin's,  and  the  Breslau 
timed  for  sixteen  days  between  port  an'  port !  Sixteen 
days,  man  I  She  's  a  good  boat,  but  eighteen  is  her  sum 
mer  time,  mark  you.  Sixteen  was  sheer  flytin',  kitin' 
nonsense,  an'  so  I  told  young  Bannister. 

"  *  We  've  got  to  make  it,'  he  said.  'Ye  should  not 
ha'  sent  in  a  three  hunder  pound  indent.' 

"  '  Do  they  look  for  their  boats  to  be  run  on  air? '  I 
said.  '  The  Board  's  daft.' 

"  '  E'en  tell  'em  so,'  he  says.  '  I  'm  a  married  man, 
an'  my  fourth  's  on  the  ways  now,  she  says.' ' 

"  A  boy— wi'  red  hair,"  Janet  put  in.  Her  own  hair 
is  the  splendid  red-gold  that  goes  with  a  creamy  com 
plexion. 

"  My  word,  I  was  an  angry  man  that  day!  Forbye  I 
was  fond  o'  the  old  Breslau,  I  looked  for  a  little  consid 
eration  from  the  Board  after  twenty  years'  service. 
There  was  Board-meetin'  on  Wednesday,  an'  I  slept 
overnight  in  the  engine-room,  takin'  figures  to  support 
my  case.  Well,  I  put  it  fair  and  square  before  them  all. 
4  Gentlemen,'  I  said,  '  I  've  run  the  Breslau  eight  sea 
sons,  an'  I  believe  there  's  no  fault  to  find  wi'  my  wark. 
[306] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

But  if  ye  baud  to  this  '—I  waggled  the  advertisement  at 
'em—'  this  that  /  've  never  heard  of  it  till  I  read  it  at 
breakfast,  I  do  assure  you  on  my  professional  reputation, 
she  can  never  do  it.  That  is  to  say,  she  can  for  a  while, 
but  at  a  risk  no  thinkin'  man  would  run. ' 

"  *  What  the  deil  d'  ye  suppose  we  pass  your  indents 
for? '  says  old  Holdock.  '  Man,  we  're  spendin'  money 
like  watter.' 

"  *  I  '11  leave  it  in  the  Board's  hands,'  I  said,  '  if  two 
hunder  an'  eighty-seven  pound  is  anything  beyond  right 
and  reason  for  eight  months.'  I  might  ha'  saved  my 
breath,  for  the  Board  was  new  since  the  last  election, 
an'  there  they  sat,  the  damned  deevidend-huntin'  ship- 
chandlers,  deaf  as  the  adders  o'  Scripture. 

"'We  must  keep  faith  wi'  the  public,'  said  young 
Steiner. 

"  '  Keep  faith  wi'  the  Breslau,  then,'  I  said.  '  She  's 
served  you  well,  an'  your  father  before  you.  She  '11 
need  her  bottom  restiffenin',  an'  new  bed-plates,  an' 
turnin'  out  the  forward  boilers,  an'  re-turnin'  all  three 
cylinders,  an'  refacin'  all  guides,  to  begin  with.  It  's  a 
three  months'  job.' 

u  '  Because  one  employe  is  afraid? '  says  young  Steiner. 
'  Maybe  a  piano  in  the  Chief  Engineer's  cabin  would  be 
more  to  the  point. ' 

' '  I  crushed  my  cap  in  my  hands,  an'  thanked  God 
we  'd  no  bairns  an'  a  bit  put  by. 

"  '  Understand,  gentlemen,'  I  said.  '  If  the  Breslau 
is  made  a  sixteen-day  boat,  ye  '11  find  another  engineer.' 

*  * '  Bannister  makes  no  objection, '  said  Holdock. 

"  *  I  'm  speakin'  for  myself,'  I  said.  '  Bannister  has 
[307] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

bairns. '  An'  then  I  lost  my  temper.  *  Ye  can  run  her 
into  Hell  an'  out  again  if  ye  pay  pilotage, '  I  said,  '  but 
ye  run  without  me.' 

"  *  That  's  insolence,'  said  young  Steiner. 

u  '  At  your  pleasure,'  I  said,  turnin'  to  go. 

"  '  Ye  can  consider  yourself  dismissed.  We  must 
preserve  discipline  among  our  employes,'  said  old  Hoi- 
dock,  an'  he  looked  round  to  see  that  the  Board  was 
with  him.  They  knew  nothin'— God  forgie  'em— an' 
they  nodded  me  out  o'  the  line  after  twenty  years— 
after  twenty  years. 

* '  I  went  out  an'  sat  down  by  the  hall  porter  to  get  my 
wits  again.  I  'm  thinkin'  I  swore  at  the  Board.  Then 
auld  McRimmon— o'  McNaughten  &  McRimmon— came 
oot  o'  his  office,  that  's  on  the  same  floor,  an'  looked  at 
me,  proppin'  up  one  eyelid  wi1  his  forefinger.  Ye  know 
they  call  him  the  Blind  Deevil,  forbye  he 's  onythin'  but 
blind,  an'  no  deevil  in  his  dealin's  wi'  me— McRimmon 
o'  the  Black  Bird  Line. 

"  *  What  's  here,  Mister  McPhee? '  said  he. 

"  I  was  past  prayin'  for  by  then.  '  A  Chief  Engineer 
sacked  after  twenty  years'  service  because  he  '11  not 
risk  the  Breslau  on  the  new  timin',  an'  be  damned  to 
ye,  McRimmon,'  I  said. 

' '  The  auld  man  sucked  in  his  lips  an'  whistled.  '  Ah, ' 
said  he,  '  the  new  timin'.  I  see! '  He  doddered  into 
the  Board-room  I  'd  just  left,  an'  the  Dandie-dog  that 
is  just  his  blind  man's  leader  stayed  wi'  me.  That 
was  providential.  In  a  minute  he  was  back  again. 
'  Ye  've  cast  your  bread  on  the  watter,  McPhee,  an'  be 
damned  to  you, '-he  says.  *  Whaur  's  my  dog?  My 
word,  is  he  on  your  knee?  There  's  more  discernment 
[308] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

in  a  dog  than  a  Jew.  What  garred  ye  curse  your  Board, 
McPhee?  It  's  expensive.' 

"  '  They  '11  pay  more  for  the  Breslau,1  I  said.  '  Get 
off  my  knee,  ye  smotherin'  beast.' 

"  '  Bearin's  hot,  eh? '  said  McRimmon.  '  It  's  thirty 
year  since  a  man  daur  curse  me  to  my  face.  Time  was 
I  'd  ha'  cast  ye  doon  the  stairway  for  that.' 

"  '  Forgie  's  all! '  I  said.  He  was  wearin'  to  eighty, 
as  I  knew.  '  I  was  wrong,  McRimmon ;  but  when  a 
man  's  shown  the  door  for  doin'  his  plain  duty  he  's  not 
always  ceevil. ' 

"'  So  I  hear,'  says  McRimmon.  *  Ha'  ye  ony  objec 
tion  to  a  tramp  freighter?  It  's  only  fifteen  a  month, 
but  they  say  the  Blind  Deevil  feeds  a  man  better  than 
others.  She  's  my  Kite.  Come  ben.  Ye  can  thank 
Dandie,  here.  I  'm  no  used  to  thanks.  An'  noo,'  says 
he,  '  what  possessed  ye  to  throw  up  your  berth  wl'  Hoi- 
dock?  ' 

"  '  The  new  timin','  said  I.  *  The  Breslau  will  not 
stand  it.' 

"  '  Hoot,  oot,'  said  he.  *  Ye  might  ha'  crammed  her  a 
little— enough  to  show  ye  were  drivin'  her— an'  brought 
her  in  twa  days  behind.  What  's  easier  than  to  say  ye 
slowed  for  bearin's,  eh?  All  my  men  do  it,  and— I 
believe  xem.' 

" '  McRimmon,'  says  I,  *  what  's  her  virginity  to  a 
lassie? ' 

"  He  puckered  his  dry  face  an'  twisted  in  his  chair. 
*  The  warld  an'  a','  says  he.  '  My  God,  the  vara  warld 
an'  a' !  But  what  ha'  you  or  me  to  do  wi'  virginity, 
this  late  along?' 

"  4  This,'  I  said.  '  There  's  just  one  thing  that  each 
[309] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

one  of  us  in  his  trade  or  profession  will  not  do  for  ony 
consideration  whatever.  If  I  run  to  time  I  run  to  time, 
barrin'  always  the  risks  o'  the  high  seas.  Less  than 
that,  under  God,  I  have  not  done.  More  than  that, 
by  God,  I  will  not  do!  There  's  no  trick  o'  the  trade 
I  'm  not  acquaint  wi'  — ' 

"'So  I  've  heard,'  says  McRimmon,  dry  as  a  bis 
cuit. 

"  '  But  yon  matter  o'  fair  runnin'  's  just  my  Shekinah, 
ye  '11  understand.  I  daurna  tamper  wi'  that .  Nursing 
weak  engines  is  fair  craftsmanship ;  but  what  the  Board 
ask  is  cheatin',  wi'  the  risk  o'  manslaughter  addeetional. ' 
Ye  '11  note  I  know  my  business. 

"  There  was  some  more  talk,  an'  next  week  I  went 
aboard  the  Kite,  twenty-five  hunder  ton,  simple  com 
pound,  a  Black  Bird  tramp.  The  deeper  she  rode,  the 
better  she  'd  steam.  I  've  snapped  as  much  as  eleven 
out  of  her,  but  eight  point  three  was  her  fair  normal. 
Good  food  forward  an'  better  aft,  all  indents  passed 
wi'out  marginal  remarks,  the  best  coal,  new  don 
keys,  and  good  crews.  There  was  nothin'  the  old  man 
would  not  do,  except  paint.  That  was  his  deeficulty. 
Ye  could  no  more  draw  paint  than  his  last  teeth  from 
hun.  He  'd  come  down  to  dock,  an'  his  boats  a  scandal 
all  along  the  watter,  an'  he  'd  whine  an'  cry  an'  say  they 
looked  all  he  could  desire.  Every  owner  has  his  non 
plus  ultra,  I  've  obsairved.  Paint  was  McRimmon's. 
But  you  could  get  round  his  engines  without  riskin'  your 
life,  an' ,  for  all  his  blindness,  I ' ve  seen  him  reject  five 
flawed  intermediates,  one  after  the  other,  on  a  nod  from 
me;  an'  his  cattle-fittin's  were  guaranteed  for  North 
[310] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

Atlantic  winter  weather.  Ye  ken  what  that  means? 
McRimmon  an'  the  Black  Bird  Line,  God  bless  him! 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  she  would  lie  down  an'  fill  her 
forward  deck  green,  an'  snore  away  into  a  twenty-knot 
gale  forty-five  to  the  minute,  three  an'  a  half  knots  an 
hour,  the  engines  runnin'  sweet  an'  true  as  -a  bairn 
breathin'  in  its  sleep.  Bell  was  skipper;  an'  forbye 
there  's  no  love  lost  between  crews  an'  owners,  we  were 
fond  o'  the  auld  Blind  Deevil  an'  his  dog,  an'  I  'm 
thinkin'  he  liked  us.  He  was  worth  the  windy  side  o' 
twa  million  sterlin',  an'  no  friend  to  his  own  blood-kin. 
Money  's  an  awfu'  thing— overmuch— for  a  lonely 
man. 

"  I  'd  taken  her  out  twice,  there  an'  back  again,  when 
word  came  o'  the  BreslauCs  breakdown,  just  as  I  pro 
phesied.  Calder  was  her  engineer— he  's  not  fit  to  run 
a  tug  down  the  Solent— and  he  fairly  lifted  the  engines 
off  the  bed-plates,  an'  they  fell  down  in  heaps,  by  what  I 
heard.  So  she  filled  from  the  after  stufiin'-box  to  the 
after  bulkhead,  an'  lay  star-gazing,  with  seventy-nine 
squealin'  passengers  in  the  saloon,  till  the  Camaralza- 
man  o'  Ramsey  &  Gold's  Cartagena  line  gave  her  a 
tow  to  the  tune  o'  five  thousand  seven  hunder  an'  forty 
pound,  wi'  costs  in  the  Admiralty  Court.  She  was  help 
less,  ye  '11  understand,  an'  in  no  case  to  meet  ony 
weather.  Five  thousand  seven  hunder  an'  forty  pounds, 
with  costs,  an'  exclusive  o'  new  engines!  They  'd  ha' 
done  better  to  ha'  kept  me— on  the  old  timin'. 

"  But,  even  so,  the  new  Board  were  all  for  retrench 
ment.  Young  Steiner,  the  Jew,  was  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
They  sacked  men  right  an'  left,  that  would  not  eat  the 
[311] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

dirt  the  Board  gave  'em.  They  cut  down  repairs;  they 
fed  crews  wi'  leavin's  an'  scrapin's;  and,  reversin' 
McRimmon's  practice,  they  hid  their  defeeciencies  wi' 
paint  an'  cheap  gildin' .  Quern  Deus  vult  perrdere  prrius 
dementat,  ye  remember. 

"  In  January  we  went  to  dry-dock,  an'  in  the  next 
dock  lay  the  GrotJcau,  their  big  freighter  that  was  the 
Dolabella  o'  Piegan,  Piegan  &  Walsh's  line  in  '84— a 
Clyde-built  iron  boat,  a  flat-bottomed,  pigeon-breasted, 
under-engined,  bull-nosed  bitch  of  a  five  thousand  ton 
freighter,  that  would  neither  steer,  nor  steam,  nor  stop 
when  ye  asked  her.  Whiles  she  'd  attend  to  her 
helm,  whiles  she  'd  take  charge,  whiles  she  'd  wait  to 
scratch  herself,  an'  whiles  she  'd  buttock  into  a  dock- 
head.  But  Holdock  and  Steiner  had  bought  her  cheap, 
and  painted  her  all  over  like  the  Hoor  o'  Babylon,  an' 
we  called  her  the  HOOT  for  short. ' '  (By  the  way,  McPhee 
kept  to  that  name  throughout  the  rest  of  his  tale;  so 
you  must  read  accordingly.)  "I  went  to  see  young 
Bannister— he  had  to  take  what  the  Board  gave  him,  an' 
he  an'  Calder  were  shifted  together  from  the  Breslau  to 
this  abortion— an'  talkin'  to  him  I  went  into  the  dock 
under  her.  Her  plates  were  pitted  till  the  men  that 
were  paint,  paint,  paintin'  her  laughed  at  it.  But  the 
war st  was  at  the  last .  She '  d  a  great  clumsy  iron  twelve- 
foot  Thresher  propeller— Aitcheson  designed  the  Kites' 
—and  just  on  the  tail  o'  the  shaft,  behind  the  boss,  was 
a  red  weepin'  crack  ye  could  ha'  put  a  penknife  to. 
Man,  it  was  an  awf  u'  crack  I 

"  '  When  d'  ye  ship  a  new  tail-shaft? '  I  said  to  Ban 
nister. 

[312] 


When  d'  ye  ship  a  new  tail-shaft  ?'  I  said  to  Bannister." 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  He  knew  what  I  meant.  *  Oh,  yon  's  a  superfeecial 
flaw/  says  he,  not  lookin'  at  me. 

"  '  Superfeecial  Gehenna! '  I  said.  '  Ye  '11  not  take 
her  oot  wi'  a  solution  o'  continuity  that  like. ' 

"  '  They  '11  putty  it  up  this  evening,'  he  said.  '  I  'm 
a  married  man,  an'— ye  used  to  know  the  Board.' 

"I  e'en  said  what  was  gied  me  in  that  hour.  Ye 
know  how  a  dry-dock  echoes.  I  saw  young  Steiner 
standin'  listenin'  above  me,  an',  man,  he  used  language 
provocative  of  a  breach  o'  the  peace.  I  was  a  spy  and 
a  disgraced  employe,  an'  a  corrupter  o'  young  Bannis 
ter's  morals,  an'  he  'd  prosecute  me  for  libel.  He  went 
away  when  I  ran  up  the  steps— I  'd  ha'  thrown  him  into 
the  dock  if  I  'd  caught  him— an'  there  I  met  McRimmon, 
wi'  Dandie  pullin'  on  the  chain,  guidin'  the  auld  man 
among  the  railway  lines. 

"  '  McPhee,'  said  he,  '  ye  're  no  paid  to  fight  Holdock, 
Steiner,  Chase  &  Company,  Limited,  when  ye  meet. 
What  's  wrong  between  you? ' 

'"No  more  than  a  tail-shaft  rotten  as  a  kail-stump. 
For  ony  sakes  go  an'  look,  McRimmon.  It  's  a  come 
dietta.' 

"  '  I  'm  feared  o'  yon  conversational  Hebrew,'  said  he. 
'  Whaur  's  the  flaw,  an'  what  like? ' 

"  '  A  seven-inch  crack  just  behind  the  boss.  There  's 
no  power  on  earth  will  fend  it  just  jarrin'  off.' 

"'When?' 

"  '  That  's  beyon'  my  knowledge,'  I  said. 

"  'So  it  is;  so  it  is,'  said  McRimmon.  *  We  've  all 
oor  leemitations.  Ye  're  certain  it  was  a  crack? ' 

"  *  Man,  it  's  a  crevasse,'  I  said,  for  there  were  no 
[313] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

words  to  describe  the  magnitude  of  it.  {  An'  young 
Bannister  's  sayin'  it  's  no  more  than  a  superfeecial 
flaw!' 

" '  Weell,  I  tak'  it  oor  business  is  to  mind  oor  busi 
ness.  If  ye  've  ony  friends  aboard  her,  McPhee,  why 
not  bid  them  to  a  bit  dinner  at  Radley's? ' 

"  '  I  was  thinkin'  o'  tea  in  the  cuddy,'  I  said.  '  Engi 
neers  o'  tramp  freighters  cannot  afford  hotel  prices. ' 

"  *  Na!  na! '  says  the  auld  man,  whimperin'.  *  Not 
the  cuddy.  They  '11  laugh  at  my  Kite,  for  she  's  no 
plastered  with  paint  like  the  Hoor.  Bid  them  to  Rad 
ley's,  McPhee,  an'  send  me  the  bill.  Thank  Dandie, 
here,  man.  I  'm  no  used  to  thanks. '  Then  he  turned 
him  round.  (I  was  just  thinkin'  the  vara  same  thing.) 
'  Mister  McPhee, '  said  he,  '  this  is  not  senile  dementia. ' 

u  '  Preserve  's! '  I  said,  clean  jumped  oot  o'  mysel'. 
'  I  was  but  thinkin'  you  're  fey,  McRimmon.' 

"  Dod,  the  auld  deevil  laughed  till  he  nigh  sat  down  on 
Dandie.  '  Send  me  the  bill, '  says  he.  '  I  'm  long  past 
champagne,  but  tell  me  how  it  tastes  the  morn.' 

' '  Bell  and  I  bid  young  Bannister  and  Calder  to  dinner 
at  Radley's.  They  '11  have  no  laughin'  an'  singin'  there, 
but  we  took  a  private  room— like  yacht-owners  fra' 
Cowes." 

McPhee  grinned  all  over,  and  lay  back  to  think. 

"And  then?"  said  I. 

"  We  were  no  drunk  in  ony  preceese  sense  o'  the  word, 
but  Radley  's  showed  me  the  dead  men.  There  were  six 
magnums  o'  dry  champagne  an'  maybe  a  bottle  o' 
whisky. ' ' 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  four  got  away 
[314] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

with  a  magnum  and  a  half  a  piece,  besides  whisky? "  I 
demanded. 

McPhee  looked  down  upon  me  from  between  his 
shoulders  with  toleration. 

"  Man,  we  were  not  settin'  down  to  drink,"  he  said. 
'  *  They  no  more  than  made  us  wutty .  To  be  sure,  young 
Bannister  laid  his  head  on  the  table  an'  greeted  like  a 
bairn,  an'  Calder  was  all  for  callin'  on  Steiner  at  two  in 
the  morn  an'  painting  him  galley-green ;  but  they  'd  been 
drinkin'  the  afternoon.  Lord,  how  they  twa  cursed 
the  Board,  an'  the  Grotkau,  an'  the  tail-shaft,  an'  the 
engines,  an'  a'  1  They  didna  talk  o'  superfeecial  flaws 
that  night.  I  mind  young  Bannister  an'  Calder  shakin' 
hands  on  a  bond  to  be  revenged  on  the  Board  at  ony 
reasonable  cost  this  side  o'  losing  their  certificates. 
Now  mark  ye  how  false  economy  ruins  business.  The 
Board  fed  them  like  swine  (I  have  good  reason  to  know 
it),  an'  I  've  obsairved  wi'  my  ain  people  that  if  ye  touch 
his  stomach  ye  wauken  the  deil  in  a  Scot.  Men  will  tak' 
a  dredger  across  the  Atlantic  if  they  're  well  fed,  an* 
fetch  her  somewhere  on  the  broadside  o'  the  Americas ; 
but  bad  food  's  bad  service  the  warld  over. 

"  The  bill  went  to  McRimmon,  an'  he  said  no  more  to 
me  till  the  week-end,  when  I  was  at  him  for  more  paint, 
for  we  'd  heard  the  Kite  was  chartered  Liverpool-side. 

"'Bide  whaur  ye  're  put,'  said  the  Blind  Deevil. 
*  Man,  do  ye  wash  in  champagne?  The  Kite 's  no  leavin' 
here  till  I  gie  the  order,  an'  —how  am  I  to  waste  paint 
on  her,  wi'  the  Lammergeyer  docked  for  who  knows  how 
long  an'  a'?' 

"  She  was  our  big  freighter— Mclnty re  was  engineer 
[315] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

—an'  I  knew  she  'd  come  from  overhaul  not  three 
months.  That  morn  I  met  McRimmon's  head-clerk— 
ye  '11  not  know  him— fair  bitin'  his  nails  off  wi'  morti 
fication. 

"  '  The  auld  man  's  gone  gyte,'  says  he.  '  He 's  with 
drawn  the  Lammergeyer. ' 

"  '  Maybe  he  has  reasons,'  says  I. 

'"Reasons!    He's  daft!' 

"'He  '11  no  be  daft  till  he  begins  to  paint,'  I  said. 

"  '  That 's  just  what  he  's  done— and  South  American 
freights  higher  than  we  '11  live  to  see  them  again.  He 'sr 
laid  her  up  to  paint  her— to  paint  her— to  paint  her! ' 
says  the  little  clerk,  dancin'  like  a  hen  on  a  hot  plate. 

*  Five  thousand  ton  o'  potential  freight  rottin'  in  dry- 
dock,  man ;  an'  he  dolin'  the  paint  out  in  quarter-pound- 
tins,  for  it  cuts  him  to  the  heart,  mad  though  he  is.     An' 
the  Grotkau— the  GrotJcau  of  all  conceivable  bottoms- 
soaking  up  every  pound  that  should  be  ours  at  Liver 
pool!' 

44 1  was  staggered  wi'  this  folly — considerin'  the  din 
ner  at  Radley's  in  connection  wi'  the  same. 

"  '  Ye  may  well  stare,  McPhee,'  says  the  head-clerk. 

*  There  's  engines,  an'  rollin'  stock,  an'  iron  bridges— 
d'  ye  know  what  freights  are  noo?— an'  pianos,  an'  mil 
linery,  an'  fancy  Brazil  cargo  o'  every  species  pourin' 
into  the  Grotkau— the  GrotJcau  o'  the  Jerusalem  firm 
—and  the  Lammergeyer  's  bein'  painted! ' 

"  Losh,  I  thought  he  'd  drop  dead  wi'  the  fits. 

"  I  could  say  no  more  than  '  Obey  orders,  if  ye  break 
owners,'  but  on  the  Kite  we  believed  McRimmon  was 
mad ;  an'  Mclntyre  of  the  Lammergeyer  was  for  lockin' 
[316] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

him  up  by  some  patent  legal  process  he  'd  found  in  a 
book  o'  maritime  law.  An'  a'  that  week  South  Amer 
ican  freights  rose  an'  rose.  It  was  sinfu' ! 

"  Syne  Bell  got  orders  to  tak'  the  Kite  round  to  Liver 
pool  in  water-ballast,  and  McRimmon  came  to  bid  's 
good-bye,  yammerin'  an'  whinin'  o'er  the  acres  o'  paint 
he  'd  lavished  on  the  Lammergeyer. 

"  '  I  look  to  you  to  retrieve  it,'  says  he.  '  I  look  to 
you  to  reimburse  me!  'Fore  God,  why  are  ye  not  cast 
off?  Are  ye  dawdlin'  in  dock  for  a  purpose? ' 

"  *  What  odds,  McRimmon? '  says  Bell.  '  We  '11  be  a 
day  behind  the  fair  at  Liverpool.  The  GrotJcau  's  got 
all  the  freight  that  might  ha'  been  ours  an'  the  Lam 
mergeyer1 s.'  McRimmon  laughed  an'  chuckled— the 
pairf  ect  eemage  o'  senile  dementia.  Ye  ken  his  eyebrows 
wark  up  an'  down  like  a  gorilla's. 

"  '  Ye  're  under  sealed  orders,'  said  he,  tee-heein'  an' 
scratchin'  himself.  '  Yon  's  they  '—to  be  opened  seria 
tim. 

"  Says  Bell,  shufflin'  the  envelopes  when  the  auld  man 
had  gone  ashore :  '  We  're  to  creep  round  a'  the  south 
coast,  standin'  in  for  orders— this  weather,  too.  There 's 
no  question  o'  his  lunacy  now.' 

"  Well,  we  buttocked  the  auld  Kite  along— vara  bad 
weather  we  made— standin'  in  all  alongside  for  tele 
graphic  orders,  which  are  the  curse  o'  skippers.  Syne 
we  made  over  to  Holyhead,  an'  Bell  opened  the  last 
envelope  for  the  last  instructions.  I  was  wi'  him  in  the 
cuddy,  an'  he  threw  it  over  to  me,  cryin' :  '  Did  ye  ever 
know  the  like,  Mac? ' 

"  I  '11  no  say  what  McRimmon  had  written,  but  he 
[317] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

was  far  from  mad.  There  was  a  sou'wester  brewin' 
when  we  made  the  mouth  o'  the  Mersey,  a  bitter  cold 
morn  wi'  a  grey-green  sea  and  a  grey-green  sky— Liver 
pool  weather,  as  they  say;  an'  there  we  lay  choppin', 
an'  the  crew  swore.  Ye  canna  keep  secrets  aboard  ship. 
They  thought  McRimmon  was  mad,  too. 

"  Syne  we  saw  the  GrotJcau  rollin'  oot  on  the  top  o' 
flood,  deep  an'  double  deep,  wi'  her  new-painted  funnel 
an'  her  new-painted  boats  an'  a'.  She  looked  her  name, 
an',  moreover,  she  coughed  like  it.  Calder  tauld  me  at 
Radley's  what  ailed  his  engines,  but  my  own  ear  would 
ha'  told  me  twa  mile  awa',  by  the  beat  o'  them.  Round 
we  came,  plungin'  an'  squatterin'  in  her  wake,  an'  the 
wind  cut  wi'  good  promise  o'  more  to  come.  By  six  it 
blew  hard  but  clear,  an'  before  the  middle  watch  it  was 
a  sou'wester  in  airnest. 

"  '  She  '11  edge  into  Ireland,  this  gait,'  says  Bell.  I 
was  with  him  on  the  bridge,  watchin'  the  GrotkaiCs  port 
light.  Ye  canna  see  green  so  far  as  red,  or  we  'd  ha' 
kept  to  leeward.  We  'd  no  passengers  to  consider,  an' 
(all  eyes  being  on  the  Grrotkau)  we  fair  walked  into  a  liner 
rampin'  home  to  Liverpool.  Or,  to  be  preceese,  Bell  no 
more  than  twisted  the  Kite  oot  from  under  her  bows, 
and  there  was  a  little  damnin'  betwix'  the  twa  bridges. 
Noo  a  passenger  "— McPhee  regarded  me  benignantly — 
"  wad  ha'  told  the  papers  that  as  soon  as  he  got  to  the 
Customs.  We  stuck  to  the  GrotJcau' s  tail  that  night  an' 
the  next  twa  days— she  slowed  down  to  five  knot  by  my 
reckonin'— and  we  lapped  along  the  weary  way  to  the 
Fastnet." 

"  But  you  don't  go  by  the  Fastnet  to  get  to  any  South 
American  port,  do  you?  "  I  said. 
[318] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  We  do  not.  We  prefer  to  go  as  direct  as  may  be. 
But  we  were  folio  win'  the  Grotkau,  an'  she  'd  no  walk 
into  that  gale  for  ony  consideration.  Knowin'  what  I 
did  to  her  discredit,  I  couldna  blame  young  Bannister. 
It  was  warkin'  up  to  a  North  Atlantic  winter  gale,  snow 
an'  sleet  an'  a  perishin'  wind.  Eh,  it  was  like  the  Deil 
walkin'  abroad  o'  the  surface  o'  the  deep,  whuppin'  off 
the  top  o'  the  waves  before  he  made  up  his  mind.  They  'd 
bore  up  against  it  so  far,  but  the  minute  she  was  clear 
o'  the  Skelligs  she  fair  tucked  up  her  skirts  an'  ran  for 
it  by  Dunmore  Head.  Wow,  she  rolled ! 

"  '  She  '11  be  makin'  Smerwick,'  says  Bell. 

u  '  She  'd  ha'  tried  for  Ventry  by  noo  if  she  meant 
that,'  I  said. 

"  '  They  '11  roll  the  funnel  oot  o'  her,  this  gait,'  says 
Bell.  '  Why  canna  Bannister  keep  her  head  to  sea? ' 

'"It  's  the  tail-shaft.  Ony  rollin'  's  better  than 
pitchin'  wi'  superf eecial  cracks  in  the  tail-shaft.  Galder 
knows  that  much, '  I  said. 

"  *  It 's  ill  wark  retreevin'  steamers  this  weather, '  said 
Bell.  His  beard  and  whiskers  were  frozen  to  his  oilskin, 
an'  the  spray  was  white  on  the  weather  side  of  him. 
Pairfect  North  Atlantic  winter  weather! 

' '  One  by  one  the  sea  raxed  away  our  three  boats,  an' 
the  davits  were  crumpled  like  ram's  horns. 

"  '  Yon  's  bad,'  said  Bell,  at  the  last.  '  Ye  canna  pass 
a  hawser  wi'oot  a  boat.'  Bell  was  a  vara  judeecious 
man— for  an  Aberdonian. 

"  I  'm  not  one  that  fashes  himself  for  eventualities 

outside  the  engine-room,  so  I  e'en  slipped  down  betwixt 

waves  to  see  how  the  Kite  fared.     Man,  she  's  the  best 

geared  boat  of  her  class  that  ever  left  Clyde!    Kin- 

[319] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

loch,  my  second,  knew  her  as  well  as  I  did.  I  found 
him  dryin'  his  socks  on  the  main-steam,  an'  combin'  his 
whiskers  wi'  the  comb  Janet  gied  me  last  year,  for  the 
warld  an'  a'  as  though  we  were  in  port.  I  tried  the  feed, 
speered  into  the  stoke-hole,  thumbed  all  bearin's,  spat 
on  the  thrust  for  luck,  gied  'em  my  blessin',  an'  took 
Kinloch's  socks  before  I  went  up  to  the  bridge  again. 

"  Then  Bell  handed  me  the  wheel,  an'  went  below  to 
warm  himself.  When  he  came  up  my  gloves  were  frozen 
to  the  spokes  an'  the  ice  clicked  over  my  eyelids.  Pair- 
feet  North  Atlantic  winter  weather,  as  I  was  sayin'. 

"  The  gale  blew  out  by  night,  but  we  lay  in  smotherin' 
cross-seas  that  made  the  auld  Kite  chatter  from  stem  to 
stern.  I  slowed  to  thirty-four,  I  mind— no,  thirty-seven. 
There  was  a  long  swell  the  morn,  an'  the  GrotJcau  was 
headin'  into  it  west  awa'. 

"  '  She  '11  win  to  Rio  yet,  tail-shaft  or  no  tail-shaft,' 
says  Bell. 

"  '  Last  night  shook  her,'  I  said.  *  She  '11  jar  it  off 
yet,  mark  my  word.' 

' '  We  were  then,  maybe,  a  hunder  and  fifty  mile  west- 
sou' west  o'  Slyne  Head,  by  dead  reckonin'.  Next  day 
we  made  a  hunder  an'  thirty— ye  '11  note  we  were  not 
racin' -boats— an'  the  day  after  a  hunder  an'  sixty-one, 
an'  that  made  us,  we  11  say,  Eighteen  an'  a  bittock  west, 
an'  maybe  Fifty-one  an'  a  bittock  north,  crossin'  all  the 
North  Atlantic  liner  lanes  on  the  long  slant,  always  in 
sight  o'  the  Groikau,  creepin'  up  by  night  and  fallin' 
awa'  by  day.  After  the  gale  it  was  cold  weather  wi' 
dark  nights. 

"  I  was  in  the  engine-room  on  Friday  night,  just  be- 
[320] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

fore  the  middle  watch,  when  Bell  whustled  down  the 
tube:  '  She  's  done  it ' ;  an'  up  I  came. 

"  The  Grotkau  was  just  a  fair  distance  south,  an'  one 
by  one  she  ran  up  the  three  red  lights  in  a  vertical  line 
—the  sign  of  a  steamer  not  under  control. 

"  *  Yon  's  a  tow  for  us,'  said  Bell,  lickin'  his  chops. 
'She  '11  be  worth  more  than  the  Breslau.  We  '11  go 
down  to  her,  McPhee ! ' 

"  '  Bide  a  while,'  I  said.  '  The  seas  fair  throng  wi' 
ships  here.' 

"'Reason  why,'  said  Bell.  *  It  's  a  fortune  gaun 
beggin'.  What  d'  ye  think,  man? ' 

"  '  Gie  her  till  daylight.  She  knows  we  're  here.  If 
Bannister  needs  help  he  '11  loose  a  rocket.' 

"  '  Wha  told  ye  Bannister's  need?  We  '11  ha'  some 
rag-an'-bone  tramp  snappin'  her  up  under  oor  nose,' 
said  he;  an'  he  put  the  wheel  over.  We  were  goin'  slow. 

"  '  Bannister  wad  like  better  to  go  home  on  a  liner  an' 
eat  in  the  saloon.  Mind  ye  what  they  said  o'  Holdock 
&  Steiner's  food  that  night  at  Radley's?  Keep  her 
awa',  man— keep  her  awa'.  A  tow 's  a  tow,  but  a  dere 
lict  's  big  salvage.' 

"  '  E-eh! '  said  Bell.  '  Yon 's  an  inshot  o'  yours,  Mac. 
I  love  ye  like  a  brother.  We  '11  bide  whaur  we  are  till 
daylight ' ;  an'  he  kept  her  awa'. 

"  Syne  up  went  a  rocket  forward,  an'  twa  on  the 
bridge,  an'  a  blue  light  aft.  Syne  a  tar-barrel  forward 
again. 

"  '  She 's  sinkin','  said  Bell.  '  It 's  all  gaun,  an'  I  'U 
get  no  more  than  a  pair  o'  night-glasses  for  pickin'  up 
young  Bannister— the  fool! ' 

[321] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  '  Fair  an'  soft  again,'  I  said.  '  She  's  signallin'  to 
the  south  of  us.  Bannister  knows  as  well  as  I  that  one 
rocket  would  bring  the  Breslau.  He  '11  no  be  wastin' 
fireworks  for  nothin'.  Hear  her  ca' ! ' 

"  The  Grotkau  whustled  an'  whustled  for  five  min 
utes,  an'  then  there  were  more  fireworks— a  regular 
exhibeetion. 

"  '  That 's  no  for  men  in  the  regular  trade,'  says  Bell. 
'  Ye  're  right,  Mac.  That 's  for  a  cuddy  full  o'  passen 
gers.'  He  blinked  through  the  night-glasses  when  it 
lay  a  bit  thick  to  southward. 

"  '  What  d'  ye  make  of  it? '  I  said. 

"'Liner,'  he  says.  'Yon  's  her  rocket.  Ou,  ay; 
they  've  waukened  the  gold-strapped  skipper,  an'— noo 
they  've  waukened  the  passengers.  They  're  turnin'  on 
the  electrics,  cabin  by  cabin.  Yon  's  anither  rocket! 
They  're  comin'  up  to  help  the  perishin'  in  deep  watters.' 

"  '  Gie  me  the  glass,'  I  said.  But  Bell  danced  on  the 
bridge,  clean  dementit.  '  Mails— mails— mails ! '  said  he. 
'  Under  contract  wi'  the  Government  for  the  due  con 
veyance  o'  the  mails;  an'  as  such,  Mac,  ye  '11  note,  she 
may  rescue  life  at  sea,  bufc  she  canna  tow!— she  canna 
tow!  Yon  's  her  night-signal.  She  '11  be  up  in  half  an 
hour!' 

"'Gowk!'  I  said,  'an'  we  blazin'  here  wi'  all  oor 
lights.  Oh,  Bell,  ye  're  a  fool! ' 

"  He  tumbled  off  the  bridge  forward,  an'  I  tumbled 
aft,  an'  before  ye  could  wink  our  lights  were  oot,  the 
engine-room  hatch  was  covered,  an'  we  lay  pitch-dark, 
watchin'  the  lights  o'  the  liner  come  up  that  the  Grot 
kau  'd  been  signallin'  to.  Twenty  knot  an  hour  she 
[322] 


"BREAD    UPON    THE    WATERS" 

came,  every  cabin  lighted,  an'  her  boats  swung  awa'.  It 
was  grandly  done,  an'  in  the  inside  of  an  hour.  She 
stopped  like  Mrs.  Holdock's  machine;  down  went  the 
gangway,  down  went  the  boats,  an'  in  ten  minutes  we 
heard  the  passengers  cheerin',  an'  awa'  she  fled. 

"  '  They  '11  tell  o'  this  all  the  days  they  live,'  said  Bell. 
4  A  rescue  at  sea  by  night,  as  pretty  as  a  play.  Young 
Bannister  an'  Calder  will  be  drinkin'  in  the  saloon,  an' 
six  months  hence  the  Board  o'  Trade  '11  gie  the  skipper 
a  pair  o'  binoculars.  It 's  vara  philanthropic  all  round. ' 

"  "We  '11  lay  by  till  day— ye  may  think  we  waited  for 
it  wi'  sore  eyes— an'  there  sat  the  Grotkau,  her  nose  a 
bit  cocked,  just  leerin'  at  us.  She  looked  paifectly 
ridiculous. 

"  '  She  '11  be  fillin'  aft,'  says  Bell;  '  for  why  is  she 
down  by  the  stern?  The  tail-shaft  's  punched  a  hole 
in  her,  an'— we  've  no  boats.  There  's  three  hunder 
thousand  pound  sterlin',  at  a  conservative  estimate, 
droonin'  before  our  eyes.  What  's  to  do? '  An'  his 
bearin's  got  hot  again  in  a  minute:  he  was  an  inconti 
nent  man. 

"  '  Run  her  as  near  as  ye  daur,'  I  said.  '  Gie  me  a 
jacket  an'  a  life-line,  an'  I  '11  swum  for  it.'  There  was 
a  bit  lump  of  a  sea,  an'  it  was  cold  in  the  wind— vara 
cold;  but  they  'd  gone  overside  like  passengers,  young 
Bannister  an'  Calder  an'  a',  leaving  the  gangway  down 
on  the  lee-side.  It  would  ha'  been  a  flyin'  in  the  face  o' 
manifest  Providence  to  overlook  the  invitation.  "We 
were  within  fifty  yards  o'  her  while  Kinloch  was 
garmin'  me  all  over  wi'  oil  behind  the  galley ;  an'  as  we 
ran  past  I  went  outboard  for  the  salvage  o'  three  hunder 
[323] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

thousand  pound.  Man,  it  was  perishin'  cold,  but  I  'd 
done  my  job  judgmatically,  an'  came  scrapin'  all  along 
her  side  slap  on  to  the  lower  gratin'  o'  the  gangway. 
No  one  more  astonished  than  me,  I  assure  ye.  Before 
I  'd  caught  my  breath  I  'd  skinned  both  my  knees  on 
the  gratin',  an'  was  climbin'  up  before  she  rolled  again. 
I  made  my  line  fast  to  the  rail,  an'  squattered  aft  to 
young  Bannister's  cabin,  whaur  I  dried  me  wi'  every 
thing  in  his  bunk,  an'  put  on  every  conceivable  sort  o' 
rig  I  found  till  the  blood  was  circulatin'.  Three  pair 
drawers,  I  mind  I  found— to  begin  upon— an'  I  needed 
them  all.  It  was  the  coldest  cold  I  remember  in  all  my 
experience. 

"  Syne  I  went  aft  to  the  engine-room.  The  Grotkau 
sat  on  her  own  tail,  as  they  say.  She  was  vara  short- 
shafted,  an'  her  gear  was  all  aft.  There  was  four  or 
five  foot  o'  water  in  the  engine-room  slummockin'  to  and 
fro,  black  an'  greasy;  maybe  there  was  six  foot.  The 
stoke-hold  doors  were  screwed  home,  an'  the  stoke-hold 
was  tight  enough,  but  for  a  minute  the  mess  hi  the  en 
gine-room  deceived  me.  Only  for  a  minute,  though,  an' 
that  was  because  I  was  not,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin',  as 
calm  as  ordinar'.  I  looked  again  to  mak'  sure.  'T  was 
just  black  wi'  bilge :  dead  watter  that  must  ha'  come  in 
fortuitously,  ye  ken." 

"  McPhee,  I  'm  only  a  passenger,"  I  said,  "  but  you 
don't  persuade  me  that  six  foot  o'  water  can  come  into 
an  engine-room  fortuitously." 

"  Who  's  try  in'  to  persuade  one  way  or  the  other  ? " 
McPhee  retorted.  "  I  'm  statin'  the  facts  o'  the  ease— 
the  simple,  natural  facts.  Six  or  seven  foot  o'  dead 
[324] 


Drawn  by  IV.  Louis  Sonntag,  Jr. 

'  '  It  was  perishin'  cold,  but  I'd  done  my  job  judgmatically,  an'  came  scrapin'  all 
along  her  side  slap  on  to  the  lower  gratin'  o'  the  gangway.'  " 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

watter  in  the  engine-room  is  a  vara  depressin'  sight  if 
ye  think  there  's  like  to  be  more  comin' ;  but  I  did  not 
consider  that  such  was  likely,  and  so,  ye  '11  note,  I  was 
not  depressed." 

"  That  's  all  very  well,  but  I  want  to  know  about  the 
water,"  I  said. 

"  I  've  told  ye.  There  was  six  feet  or  more  there,  wi' 
Calder's  cap  floatin'  on  top." 

"  Where  did  it  come  from? " 

"  Weel,  in  the  confusion  o'  things  after  the  propeller 
had  dropped  off  an'  the  engines  were  racin'  an'  a',  it 's 
vara  possible  that  Calder  might  ha'  lost  it  oif  his  head 
an'  no  troubled  himself  to  pick  it  up  again.  I  remember 
seein'  that  cap  on  him  at  Southampton." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  about  the  cap.  I  'm  asking 
where  the  water  came  from  and  what  it  was  doing 
there,  and  why  you  were  so  certain  that  it  was  n't  a 
leak,  McPhee?" 

"  For  good  reason— for  good  an'  sufficient  reason." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  then." 

"  Weel,  it  's  a  reason  that  does  not  properly  concern 
myself  only.  To  be  preceese,  I  'm  of  opinion  that  it  was 
due,  the  watter,  in  part  to  an  error  o'  judgment  in  an 
other  man.  We  can  a'  mak'  mistakes. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  " 

"  I  got  me  to  the  rail  again,  an', '  What 's  wrang? '  said 
Bell,  hailin'. 

"  '  She  'U  do,'  I  said.  *  Send  's  o'er  a  hawser,  an'  a 
man  to  steer.  I  '11  pull  him  in  by  the  life-line.7 

"  I  could  see  heads  bobbin'  back  an'  forth,  an'  a  whuff 
or  two  o'  strong  words.  Then  Bell  said :  '  They  '11  not 
[325] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

trust  themselves— one  of  'em— in  this  watter— except 
Kinloch,  an'  I  '11  no  spare  him.' 

"  '  The  more  salvage  to  me,  then,'  I  said.  '  I  '11  make 
shift  solo.' 

"  Says  one  dock-rat,  at  this:  '  D'  ye  think  she 's  safe? ' 

"  '  I  '11  guarantee  ye  nothing,'  I  said,  '  except  maybe 
a  hammerin'  for  keepin'  me  this  long.' 

"  Then  he  sings  out:  '  There  's  no  more  than  one  life 
belt,  an'  they  canna  find  it,  or  I  'd  come.' 

"  '  Throw  him  over,  the  Jezebel,'  I  said,  for  I  was  oot 
o'  patience;  an1  they  took  haud  o'  that  volunteer  before 
he  knew  what  was  in  store,  and  hove  him  over,  in  the 
bight  of  my  life-line.  So  I  e'en  hauled  him  upon  the 
sag  of  it,  hand  over  fist— a  vara  welcome  recruit  when 
I  'd  tilted  the  salt  watter  oot  of  him:  for,  by  the  way,  he 
could  na  swim. 

"  Syne  they  bent  a  twa-inch  rope  to  the  life-line,  an'  a 
hawser  to  that,  an'  I  led  the  rope  o'er  the  drum  of  a 
hand-winch  forward,  an'  we  sweated  the  hawser  inboard 
an'  made  it  fast  to  the  Groikau's  bitts. 

"  Bell  brought  the  Kite  so  close  I  feared  she  'd  roll  in 
an'  do  the  Grotkau's  plates  a  mischief.  He  hove  anither 
life-line  to  me,  an'  went  astern,  an'  we  had  all  the  weary 
winch  work  to  do  again  wi'  a  second  hawser.  For  all 
that,  Bell  was  right:  we  'd  a  long  tow  before  us,  an' 
though  Providence  had  helped  us  that  far,  there  was  no 
sense  in  leavin'  too  much  to  its  keepin'.  When  the  sec 
ond  hawser  was  fast,  I  was  wet  wi'  sweat,  an'  I  cried 
Bell  to  tak'  up  his  slack  an'  go  home.  The  other  man 
was  by  way  o'  helpin'  the  work  wi'  askin'  for  drinks, 
but  I  e'en  told  him  he  must  hand  reef  an'  steer,  begin- 
[326] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

nin'  with  steerin',  for  I  was  goin'  to  turn  in.  He  steered 
—oh,  ay,  he  steered,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'.  At  the 
least,  he  grippit  the  spokes  an'  twiddled  'em  an'  looked 
wise,  but  I  doubt  if  the  Hoor  ever  felt  it.  I  turned  in 
there  an'  then,  to  young  Bannister's  bunk,  an'  slept  past 
expression.  I  waukened  ragin'  wi'  hunger,  a  fair  lump 
o'  sea  runniii',  the  Kite  snorin'  awa'  four  knots  an  hour; 
an'  the  Grotkau  slappin'  her  nose  under,  an'  yawin'  an' 
standin'  over  at  discretion.  She  was  a  most  disgracefu' 
tow.  But  the  shameful  thing  of  all  was  the  food.  I 
raxed  me  a  meal  fra  galley-shelves  an'  pantries  an' 
lazareetes  an'  cubby-holes  that  I  would  not  ha'  gied  to 
the  mate  of  a  Cardiff  collier;  an'  ye  ken  we  say  a  Cardiff 
mate  will  eat  clinkers  to  save  waste.  I  'm  sayin'  it  was 
simply  vile !  The  crew  had  written  what  they  thought 
of  it  on  the  new  paint  o'  the  fo'c'sle,  but  I  had  not  a 
decent  soul  wi'  me  to  complain  on.  There  was  nothin' 
for  me  to  do  save  watch  the  hawsers  an'  the  Kite's  tail 
squatterin'  down  in  white  watter  when  she  lifted  to  a 
sea;  so  I  got  steam  on  the  after  donkey-pump,  an' 
pumped  oot  the  engine-room.  There  's  no  sense  in 
leavin'  watter  loose  in  a  ship.  When  she  was  dry,  I 
went  doun  the  shaft-tunnel,  an'  found  she  was  leakin' 
a  little  through  the  stuffin'-box,  but  nothin'  to  make 
wark.  The  propeller  had  e'en  jarred  off,  as  I  knew  it 
must,  an'  Calder  had  been  waitin'  for  it  to  go  wi'  his 
hand  on  the  gear.  He  told  me  as  much  when  I  met  him 
ashore.  There  was  nothin'  started  or  strained.  It  had 
just  slipped  awa'  to  the  bed  o'  the  Atlantic  as  easy  as 
a  man  dyin'  wi'  due  warnin'— a  most  providential  busi 
ness  for  all  concerned.  Syne  I  took  stock  o'  the  Grot- 
[327] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

lean's  upper  works.  Her  boats  had  been  smashed  on 
the  davits,  an'  here  an'  there  was  the  rail  missin',  an'  a 
ventilator  or  two  had  fetched  awa',  an'  the  bridge-rails 
were  bent  by  the  seas ;  but  her  hatches  were  tight,  and 
she  'd  taken  no  sort  of  harm.  Dod,  I  came  to  hate  her 
like  a  human  bein',  for  I  was  eight  weary  days  aboard, 
starvin' — ay,  starvin' — within  a  cable's  length  o'  plenty. 
All  day  I  laid  in  the  bunk  reading  the  '  Woman-Hater, ' 
the  grandest  book  Charlie  Reade  ever  wrote,  an'  pickin' 
a  toothful  here  an'  there.  It  was  weary,  weary  work. 
Eight  days,  man,  I  was  aboard  the  Grotkau,  an'  not 
one  full  meal  did  I  make.  Sma'  blame  her  crew  would 
not  stay  by  her.  The  other  man4?  Oh  I  warked  him  wf 
a  vengeance  to  keep  him  warm. 

"  It  came  on  to  blow  when  we  fetched  soundin's,  an' 
that  kept  me  standin'  by  the  hawsers,  lashed  to  the 
capstan,  breathin'  twixt  green  seas.  I  near  died  o' 
cauld  an'  hunger,  for  the  Grotkau  towed  like  a  barge, 
an'  Bell  howkit  her  along  through  or  over.  It  was  vara 
thick  up-Channel,  too.  We  were  standin'  in  to  make 
some  sort  o'  light,  an'  we  near  walked  over  twa  three 
fishin' -boats,  an'  they  cried  us  we  were  overdose  to 
Falmouth.  Then  we  were  near  cut  down  by  a  drunken 
foreign  fruiter  that  was  blunderin'  between  us  an'  the 
shore,  and  it  got  thicker  an'  thicker  that  night,  an'  I 
could  feel  by  the  tow  Bell  did  not  know  whaur  he  was. 
Losh,  we  knew  in  the  morn,  for  the  wind  blew  the  fog 
oot  like  a  candle,  an'  the  sun  came  clear;  and  as  surely 
as  McRimmon  gied  me  my  cheque,  the  shadow  o'  the 
Eddystone  lay  across  our  tow-rope !  We  were  that  near 
—ay,  we  were  that  near!  Bell  fetched  the  Kite  round 
[328] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

with  the  jerk  that  came  close  to  tearin'  the  bitts  out  o' 
the  Grotkau,  an'  I  mind  I  thanked  my  Maker  in  young 
Bannister's  cabin  when  we  were  inside  Plymouth  break 
water. 

"  The  first  to  come  aboard  was  McRimmon,  wi'  Dandie. 
Did  I  tell  you  our  orders  were  to  take  anything  we  found 
into  Plymouth?  The  auld  deil  had  just  come  down 
overnight,  puttin'  two  an'  two  together  from  what  Cal- 
der  had  told  him  when  the  liner  landed  the  Grotkau's 
men.  He  had  preceesely  hit  oor  time.  I  'd  hailed  Bell 
for  something  to  eat,  an'  he  sent  it  o'er  in  the  same  boat 
wi'  McRimmon,  when  the  auld  man  came  to  me.  He 
grinned  an'  slapped  his  legs  and  worked  his  eyebrows 
the  while  I  ate. 

"  l  How  do  Holdock,  Steiner  &  Chase  feed  their  men? ' 
said  he. 

"  *  Ye  can  see,'  I  said,  knockin'  the  top  off  another 
beer-bottle.  '  I  did  not  sign  to  be  starved,  McRimmon.' 

44 1  Nor  to  swum,  either, '  said  he,  for  Bell  had  tauld  him 
how  I  carried  the  line  aboard.  '  Well,  I  'm  thinkin' 
you  '11  be  no  loser.  What  freight  could  we  ha'  put  into 
the  Lammergeyer  would  equal  salvage  on  four  hunder 
thousand  pounds— hull  an'  cargo?  Eh,  McPhee?  This 
cuts  the  liver  out  o'  Holdock,  Steiner,  Chase  &  Com 
pany,  Limited.  Eh,  McPhee?  An'  I  'm  sufferin'  from 
senile  dementia  now?  Eh,  McPhee?  An'  I  'm  not  daft, 
am  I,  till  I  begin  to  paint  the  Lammergeyer?  Eh, 
McPhee?  Ye  may  weel  lift  your  leg,  Dandie  1  I  ha'  the 
laugh  o'  them  all.  Ye  found  watter  in  the  engine-room? ' 

"  '  To  speak  wi'oot  prejudice,'  I  said, '  there  was  some 
watter.' 

[329] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  '  They  thought  she  was  sinkin'  after  the  propeller 
went.  She  filled  wi'  extraordinary  rapeedity.  Calder 
said  it  grieved  him  an'  Bannister  to  abandon  her. ' 

"  I  thought  o'  the  dinner  at  Radley's,  an'  what  like  o' 
food  I  'd  eaten  for  eight  days. 

'"It  would  grieve  them  sore,'  I  said. 

" '  But  the  crew  would  not  hear  o'  stay  in'  and 
workin'  her  back  under  canvas.  They  're  gaun  up  an' 
down  sayin'  they  'd  ha'  starved  first.' 

"  '  They  'd  ha'  starved  if  they  'd  stayed,'  said  I. 

"  *  I  tak'  it,  fra  Calder 's  account,  there  was  a  mutiny 
a' most.' 

' "  Ye  know  more  than  I,  McRimmon, '  I  said.  *  Speak- 
in'  wi'oot  prejudice,  for  we  're  all  in  the  same  boat, 
who  opened  the  bilge-cock?' 

"  '  Oh,  that 's  it— is  it? '  said  the  auld  man,  an'  I  could 
see  he  was  surprised.  *  A  bilge-cock,  ye  say? ' 

"  *  I  believe  it  was  a  bilge-cock.  They  were  all  shut 
when  I  came  aboard,  but  some  one  had  flooded  the  en 
gine-room  eight  feet  over  all,  and  shut  it  off  with  the 
worm-an'- wheel  gear  from  the  second  gratin'  after 
wards.' 

"  '  Losh ! '  said  McRimmon.  *  The  ineequity  o'  man  's 
beyond  belief.  But  it  'sawfu'  discreditable  to  Holdock, 
Steiner  &  Chase,  if  that  came  oot  in  court.' 

u  '  It  's  just  my  own  curiosity,'  I  said. 

"  *  Aweel,  Dandie  's  afflicted  wi'  the  same  disease. 
Dandie,  strive  against  curiosity,  for  it  brings  a  little  dog 
into  traps  an'  suchlike.    Whaur  was  the  Kite  when  yon 
painted  liner  took  off  the  GrofkavCs  people? ' 
[330] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  *  Just  there  or  thereabouts,'  I  said. 

"  *  An'  which  o'  you  twa  thought  to  cover  your 
lights? '  said  he,  winkin'. 

"  *  Dandie,'  I  said  to  the  dog,  '  we  must  both  strive 
against  curiosity.  It  's  an  unremunerative  business. 
What  's  our  chance  o'  salvage,  Dandie? ' 

"  He  laughed  till  he  choked.  *  Tak'  what  I  gie  you, 
McPhee,  an'  be  content,'  he  said.  *  Lord,  how  a  man 
wastes  time  when  he  gets  old.  Get  aboard  the  Kite, 
mon,  as  soon  as  ye  can.  I  've  clean  forgot  there  's  a 
Baltic  charter  yammerin'  for  you  at  London.  That  '11 
be  your  last  voyage,  I  'm  thinkin',  excep'  by  way  o' 
pleasure. ' 

*'  Steiner's  men  were  comin'  aboard  to  take  charge 
an'  tow  her  round,  an'  I  passed  young  Steiner  in  a  boat 
as  I  went  to  the  Kite.  He  looked  down  his  nose;  but 
McBimmon  pipes  up :  '  Here  's  the  man  ye  owe  the  Grot- 
kau  to— at  a  price,  Steiner— at  a  price!  Let  me  intro 
duce  Mr.  McPhee  to  you.  Maybe  ye  've  met  before; 
but  ye  've  vara  little  luck  in  keepin'  your  men— ashore 
or  afloat ! ' 

"  Young  Steiner  looked  angry  enough  to  eat  him  as 
he  chuckled  an'  whustled  in  his  dry  old  throat. 

"'Ye  've  not  got  your  award  yet,'  Sterner  says. 

"  '  Na,  na,'  says  the  auld  man,  in  a  screech  ye  could 
hear  to  the  Hoe,  *  but  I  've  twa  million  sterlin',  an'  no 
bairns,  ye  Judeeas  Apella,  if  ye  mean  to  fight;  an'  I  '11 
match  ye  p'und  for  p'und  till  the  last  p'und  's  oot.  Ye 
ken  we,  Steiner!  I  'm  McRimmon  o7  McNaughten  & 
McRimmon  1 ' 

[331] 


"BREAD    UPON    THE    WATERS" 

"  *  Dod,'  he  said  betwix'  his  teeth,  sittin'  back  in  the 
boat,  '  I  've  waited  fourteen  year  to  break  that  Jew- 
firm,  an'  God  be  thankit  I  '11  do  it  now.' 

"  The  Kite  was  in  the  Baltic  while  the  auld  man  was 
warkin'  his  warks,  but  I  know  the  assessors  valued  the 
Grotkau,  all  told,  at  over  three  hunder  and  sixty  thou 
sand—her  manifest  was  a  treat  o'  richness— an'  McRim- 
mon  got  a  third  for  salvin'  an  abandoned  ship.  Ye  see, 
there  's  vast  deeference  between  to  win'  a  ship  wi'  men 
on  her  an'  pickin'  up  a  derelict— a  vast  deeference— in 
pounds  sterlin'.  Moreover,  twa  three  o-  the  Grotkau' s 
crew  were  burnin'  to  testify  about  food,  an'  there  was  a 
note  o'  Calder  to  the  Board,  in  regard  to  the  tail-shaft, 
that  would  ha'  been  vara  damagin'  if  it  had  come  into 
court.  They  knew  better  than  to  fight. 

"  Syne  the  Kite  came  back,  an'  McRimmon  paid  off 
me  an'  Bell  personally,  an'  the  rest  of  the  crew  pro  rata, 
I  believe  it  's  ca'ed.  My  share — oor  share,  I  should  say 
—was  just  twenty-five  thousand  pound  sterlin'." 

At  this  point  Janet  jumped  up  and  kissed  him. 

"  Five-and-twenty  thousand  pound  sterlin'.  Noo,  I  'm 
fra  the  North,  and  I  'm  not  the  like  to  fling  money  awa' 
rashly,  but  I  'd  gie  six  months'  pay— one  hunder  an' 
twenty  pounds— to  know  who  flooded  the  engine-room 
of  the  Grotkau.  I  'm  fairly  well  acquaint  wi'  McRim 
mon' s  eediosyncrasies,  and  he  'd  no  hand  in  it.  It  was 
not  Calder,  for  I  've  asked  him,  an'  he  wanted  to  fight 
me.  It  would  be  in  the  highest  degree  unprofessional  o' 
Calder— not  fightin',  but  openin'  bilge-cocks—but  for  a 
while  I  thought  it  was  him.  Ay,  I  judged  it  might  be 
him— under  temptation." 

[332] 


"BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS" 

"  What 's  your  theory?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Weel,  I  'm  inclined  to  think  it  was  one  o'  those 
singular  providences  that  remind  us  we  're  in  the  hands 
o'  Higher  Powers." 

"  It  could  n't  open  and  shut  itself? " 

"  I  did  not  mean  that;  but  some  half-starvin'  oiler  or, 
maybe,  trimmer  must  ha'  opened  it  awhile  to  mak'  sure 
o'  leavin'  the  GrotJcau.  It 's  a  demoralisin'  thing  to  see 
an  engine-room  flood  up  after  any  accident  to  the  gear— 
demoralisin'  and  deceptive  both.  Aweel,  the  man  got 
what  he  wanted,  for  they  went  aboard  the  liner  cryin' 
that  the  GrotJcau  was  sinkin' .  But  it 's  curious  to  think 
o'  the  consequences.  In  a'  human  probability,  he  's  bein' 
damned  in  heaps  at  the  present  moment  aboard  another 
tramp  freighter;  an'  here  am  I,  wi'  five-an' -twenty 
thousand  pound  invested,  resolute  to  go  to  sea  no  more 
—providential 's  the  preceese  word— except  as  a  passen 
ger,  ye  '11  understand,  Janet." 


McPhee  kept  his  word.  He  and  Janet  went  for  a  voy 
age  as  passengers  in  the  first-class  saloon.  They  paid 
seventy  pounds  for  their  berths;  and  Janet  found  a  very 
sick  woman  hi  the  second-class  saloon,  so  that  for  six 
teen  days  she  lived  below,  and  chatted  with  the  stew 
ardesses  at  the  foot  of  the  second-saloon  stairs  while  her 
patient  slept.  McPhee  was  a  passenger  for  exactly 
twenty-four  hours.  Then  the  engineers'  mess— where 
the  oilcloth  tables  are  —joyfully  took  him  to  its  bosom, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage  that  company  was  richer 
by  the  unpaid  services  of  a  highly  certificated  engineer. 
[333] 


AN  ERROR  IN 
THE  FOURTH  DIMENSION 


AN   ERROR   IN 
THE  FOURTH   DIMENSION 

BEFORE  he  was  thirty,  he  discovered  that  there  was 
no  one  to  play  with  him.  Though  the  wealth  of 
three  toilsome  generations  stood  to  his  account,  though 
his  tastes  in  the  matter  of  books,  bindings,  rugs,  swords, 
bronzes,  lacquer,  pictures,  plate,  statuary,  horses,  con 
servatories,  and  agriculture  were  educated  and  catholic, 
the  public  opinion  of  his  country  wanted  to  know  why 
he  did  not  go  to  office  daily,  as  his  father  had  before 
him. 

So  he  fled,  and  they  howled  behind  him  that  he  was 
an  unpatriotic  Anglomaniac,  born  to  consume  fruits, 
one  totally  lacking  in  public  spirit.  He  wore  an  eye 
glass;  he  had  built  a  wall  round  his  country  house,  with 
a  high  gate  that  shut,  instead  of  inviting  America  to  sit 
on  his  flower-beds ;  he  ordered  his  clothes  from  England ; 
and  the  press  of  his  abiding  city  cursed  him,  from  his 
eye-glass  to  his  trousers,  for  two  consecutive  days. 

When  he  rose  to  light  again,  it  was  where  nothing  less 
than  the  tents  of  an  invading  army  in  Piccadilly  would 
make  any  difference  to  anybody.  If  he  had  money  and 
[337] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

leisure,  England  stood  ready  to  give  him  all  that  money 
and  leisure  could  buy.  That  price  paid,  she  would  ask 
no  questions.  He  took  his  cheque-book  and  accumulated 
things— warily  at  first,  for  he  remembered  that  in 
America  things  own  the  man.  To  his  delight,  he  dis 
covered  that  in  England  he  could  put  his  belongings 
under  his  feet;  for  classes,  ranks,  and  denominations  of 
people  rose,  as  it  were,  from  the  earth,  and  silently  and 
discreetly  took  charge  of  his  possessions.  They  had 
been  born  and  bred  for  that  sole  purpose— servants  of 
the  cheque-book.  When  that  was  at  an  end  they  would 
depart  as  mysteriously  as  they  had  come. 

The  impenetrability  of  this  regulated  life  irritated  him, 
and  he  strove  to  learn  something  of  the  human  side  of 
these  people.  He  retired  baffled,  to  be  trained  by  his 
menials.  In  America,  the  native  demoralises  the  Eng 
lish  servant.  In  England,  the  servant  educates  the 
master.  Wilton  Sargent  strove  to  learn  all  they  taught 
as  ardently  as  his  father  had  striven  to  wreck,  before 
capture,  the  railways  of  his  native  land;  and  it  must 
have  been  some  touch  of  the  old  bandit  railway  blood 
that  bade  him  buy,  for  a  song,  Holt  Hangars,  whose 
forty-acre  lawn,  as  every  one  knows,  sweeps  down  in 
velvet  to  the  quadruple  tracks  of  the  Great  Buchonian 
Railway.  Their  trains  flew  by  almost  continuously, 
with  a  bee-like  drone  in  the  day  and  a  flutter  of  strong 
wings  at  night.  The  son  of  Merton  Sargent  had  good 
right  to  be  interested  in  them.  He  owned  controlling 
interests  in  several  thousand  miles  of  track,— not  per 
manent  way,  —built  on  altogether  different  plans,  where 
locomotives  eternally  whistled  for  grade-crossings,  and 
[338] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

parlor-cars  of  fabulous  expense  and  unrestful  design 
skated  round  curves  that  the  Great  Buchonian  would 
have  condemned  as  unsafe  in  a  construction-line.  From 
the  edge  of  his  lawn  he  could  trace  the  chaired  metals 
falling  away,  rigid  as  a  bowstring,  into  the  valley  of  the 
Prest,  studded  with  the  long  perspective  of  the  block 
signals,  buttressed  with  stone,  and  carried,  high  above 
all  possible  risk,  on  a  forty-foot  embankment. 

Left  to  himself,  he  would  have  builded  a  private  car, 
and  kept  it  at  the  nearest  railway-station,  Amberley 
Royal,  five  miles  away.  But  those  into  whose  hands  he 
had  committed  himself  for  his  English  training  had 
little  knowledge  of  railways  and  less  of  private  cars. 
The  one  they  knew  was  something  that  existed  in  the 
scheme  of  things  for  their  convenience.  The  other  they 
held  to  be  "  distinctly  American  " ;  and,  with  the  versa 
tility  of  his  race,  Wilton  Sargent  had  set  out  to  be  just  a 
little  more  English  than  the  English. 

He  succeeded  to  admiration.  He  learned  not  to  redeco 
rate  Holt  Hangars,  though  he  warmed  it;  to  leave  his 
guests  alone;  to  refrain  from  superfluous  introductions; 
to  abandon  manners  of  which  he  had  great  store,  and  to 
hold  fast  by  manner  which  can  after  labour  be  acquired. 
He  learned  to  let  other  people,  hired  for  the  purpose, 
attend  to  the  duties  for  which  they  were  paid.  He 
learned— this  he  got  from  a  ditcher  on  the  estate— that 
every  man  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  had  his  de 
creed  position  in  the  fabric  of  the  realm,  which  position 
he  would  do  well  to  consult.  Last  mystery  of  all,  he 
learned  to  golf —well :  and  when  an  American  knows  the 
innermost  meaning  of  "  Don't  press,  slow  back,  and 
[339] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

keep  your  eye  on  the  ball, ' '  he  is,  for  practical  purposes, 
denationalised . 

His  other  education  proceeded  on  the  pleasantest  lines. 
Was  he  interested  in  any  conceivable  thing  in  heaven 
above,  or  the  earth  beneath,  or  the  waters  under  the 
earth?  Forthwith  appeared  at  his  table,  guided  by 
those  safe  hands  into  which  he  had  fallen,  the  very  men 
who  had  best  said,  done,  written,  explored,  excavated, 
built,  launched,  created,  or  studied  that  one  thing- 
herders  of  books  and  prints  in  the  British  Museum; 
specialists  in  scarabs,  cartouches,  and  dynasties  Egyp 
tian;  rovers  and  raiders  from  the  heart  of  unknown 
lands;  toxicologists;  orchid-hunters;  monographers  on 
flint  implements,  carpets,  prehistoric  man,  or  early 
Renaissance  music.  They  came,  and  they  played  with 
him.  They  asked  no  questions;  they  cared  not  so  much 
as  a  pin  who  or  what  he  was.  They  demanded  only  that 
he  should  be  able  to  talk  and  listen  courteously.  Their 
work  was  done  elsewhere  and  out  of  his  sight. 

There  were  also  women. 

u  Never,"  said  Wilton  Sargent  to  himself,  "  has  an 
American  seen  England  as  I  'm  seeing  it";  and  he 
thought,  blushing  beneath  the  bedclothes,  of  the  unre- 
generate  and  blatant  days  when  he  would  steam  to  office, 
down  the  Hudson,  in  his  twelve-hundred-ton  ocean-going 
steam-yacht,  and  arrive,  by  gradations,  at  Bleecker 
Street,  hanging  on  to  a  leather  strap  between  an  Irish 
washerwoman  and  a  German  anarchist.  If  any  of  his 
guests  had  seen  him  then  they  would  have  said:  "  How 
distinctly  American!"  and— Wilton  did  not  care  for 
that  tone.  He  had  schooled  himself  to  an  English  walk, 
[340] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

and,  so  long  as  he  did  not  raise  it,  an  English  voice. 
He  did  not  gesticulate  with  his  hands ;  he  sat  down  on 
most  of  his  enthusiasms,  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
The  Shibboleth.  He  would  ask  for  the  Worcestershire 
sauce:  even  Howard,  his  immaculate  butler,  could  not 
break  him  of  this. 

It  was  decreed  that  he  should  complete  his  education 
in  a  wild  and  wonderful  manner,  and,  further,  that  I 
should  be  in  at  that  death. 

Wilton  had  more  than  once  asked  me  to  Holt  Hangars, 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  well  the  new  life  fitted 
him,  and  each  tune  I  had  declared  it  creaseless.  His 
third  invitation  was  more  informal  than  the  others,  and 
he  hinted  of  some  matter  in  which  he  was  anxious  for 
my  sympathy  or  counsel,  or  both.  There  is  room  for  an 
infinity  of  mistakes  when  a  man  begins  to  take  liberties 
with  his  nationality;  and  I  went  down  expecting  things. 
A  seven-foot  dog-cart  and  a  groom  in  the  black  Holt  Han 
gars  livery  met  me  at  Amberley  Royal.  At  Holt  Han 
gars  I  was  received  by  a  person  of  elegance  and  true 
reserve,  and  piloted  to  my  luxurious  chamber.  There 
were  no  other  guests  in  the  house,  and  this  set  me 
thinking. 

Wilton  came  into  my  room  about  half  an  hour  before 
dinner,  and  though  his  face  was  masked  with  a  drop- 
curtain  of  highly  embroidered  indifference,  I  could  see 
that  he  was  not  at  ease.  In  time,  for  he  was  then  almost 
as  difficult  to  move  as  one  of  my  own  countrymen,  I 
extracted  the  tale— simple  in  its  extravagance,  extrava 
gant  in  its  simplicity.  It  seemed  that  Hackman  of  the 
British  Museum  had  been  staying  with  him  about  ten 
[341] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

days  before,  boasting  of  scarabs.  Hackman  has  a  way 
of  carrying  really  priceless  antiquities  on  his  tie-ring  and 
in  his  trouser  pockets.  Apparently,  he  had  intercepted 
something  on  its  way  to  the  Boulak  Museum  which, 
he  said,  was  "  a  genuine  Amen-Hotep— a  queen's  scarab 
of  the  Fourth  Dynasty. ' '  Now  Wilton  had  bought  from 
Cassavetti,  whose  reputation  is  not  above  suspicion,  a 
scarab  of  much  the  same  scarabeousness,  and  had  left 
it  in  his  London  chambers.  Hackman  at  a  venture, 
but  knowing  Cassavetti,  pronounced  it  an  imposition. 
There  was  long  discussion— savant  versus  millionaire, 
one  saying :  ' '  But  I  know  it  cannot  be  " ;  and  the  other : 
"  But  I  can  and  will  prove  it."  Wilton  found  it  neces 
sary  for  his  soul's  satisfaction  to  go  up  to  town,  then 
and  there,  —a  forty-mile  run,  —and  bring  back  the  scarab 
before  dinner.  It  was  at  this  point  that  he  began  to  cut 
corners  with  disastrous  results.  Amberley  Royal  sta 
tion  being  five  miles  away,  and  putting  in  of  horses  a 
matter  of  time,  Wilton  had  told  Howard,  the  immacu 
late  butler,  to  signal  the  next  train  to  stop ;  and  Howard, 
who  was  more  of  a  man  of  resource  than  his  master 
gave  him  credit  for,  had,  with  the  red  flag  of  the  ninth 
hole  of  the  links  which  crossed  the  bottom  of  the  lawn, 
signalled  vehemently  to  the  first  down -train;  and  it  had 
stopped.  Here  Wilton's  account  became  confused.  He 
attempted,  it  seems,  to  get  into  that  highly  indignant 
express,  but  a  guard  restrained  him  with  more  or  less 
force— hauled  him,  in  fact,  backwards  from  the  window 
of  a  locked  carriage.  Wilton  must  have  struck  the 
gravel  with  some  vehemence,  for  the  consequences,  he 
admitted,  were  a  free  fight  on  the  line,  in  which  he  lost 
[342] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

his  hat,  and  was  at  last  dragged  into  the  guard's  van 
and  set  down  breathless. 

He  had  pressed  money  upon  the  man,  and  very  fool 
ishly  had  explained  everything  but  his  name.  This  he 
clung  to,  for  he  had  a  vision  of  tall  head-lines  in  the 
New  York  papers,  and  well  knew  no  son  of  Merton  Sar 
gent  could  expect  mercy  that  side  the  water.  The  guard, 
to  Wilton's  amazement,  refused  the  money  on  the 
grounds  that  this  was  a  matter  for  the  Company  to  at 
tend  to.  Wilton  insisted  on  his  incognito,  and,  there 
fore,  found  two  policemen  waiting  for  him  at  St.  Botolph 
terminus.  When  he  expressed  a  wish  to  buy  a  new  hat 
and  telegraph  to  his  friends,  both  policemen  with  one 
voice  warned  him  that  whatever  he  said  would  be  used 
as  evidence  against  him;  and  this  had  impressed  Wilton 
tremendously. 

"  They  were  so  infernally  polite,"  he  said.  "  If  they 
had  clubbed  me  I  would  n't  have  cared;  but  it  was, 
*  Step  this  way,  sir,'  and,  '  Up  those  stairs,  please,  sir/ 
till  they  jailed  me— jailed  me  like  a  common  drunk,  and 
I  had  to  stay  in  a  filthy  little  cubby-hole  of  a  cell  all 
night." 

"  That  comes  of  not  giving  your  name  and  not  wiring 
your  lawyer,"  I  replied.  "  What  did  you  get? " 

"  Forty  shillings,  or  a  month,"  said  Wilton,  promptly, 
— "  next  morning  bright  and  early.  They  were  work 
ing  us  off,  three  a  minute.  A  girl  in  a  pink  hat— she 
was  brought  in  at  three  in  the  morning— got  ten  days. 
I  suppose  I  was  lucky.  I  must  have  knocked  his  senses 
out  of  the  guard.  He  told  the  old  duck  on  the  bench 
that  I  had  told  him  I  was  a  sergeant  in  the  army,  and 
[343] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

that  I  was  gathering  beetles  on  the  track.  That  comes 
of  trying  to  explain  to  an  Englishman." 

"  And  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  said  nothing.  I  wanted  to  get  out.  I  paid 
my  fine,  and  bought  a  new  hat,  and  came  up  here  be 
fore  noon  next  morning.  There  were  a  lot  of  people  in 
the  house,  and  I  told  'em  I  'd  been  unavoidably  detained, 
and  then  they  began  to  recollect  engagements  elsewhere. 
Hackman  must  have  seen  the  fight  on  the  track  and 
made  a  story  of  it.  I  suppose  they  thought  it  was  dis 
tinctly  American— confound  'em!  It  's  the  only  time 
in  my  life  that  I ' ve  ever  flagged  a  train,  and  I  would  n't 
have  done  it  but  for  that  scarab.  'T  would  n't  hurt 
their  old  trains  to  be  held  up  once  in  a  while. ' ' 

"  Well,  it  's  all  over  now,"  I  said,  choking  a  little. 
"  And  your  name  did  n't  get  into  the  papers.  It  'is 
rather  transatlantic  when  you  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Over!  "  Wilton  grunted  savagely.  "It  's  only  just 
begun.  That  trouble  with  the  guard  was  just  common, 
ordinary  assault— merely  a  little  criminal  business. 
The  flagging  of  the  train  is  civil,  — infernally  civil,  —and 
means  something  quite  different.  They  're  after  rne  for 
that  now." 

"Who?" 

"  The  Great  Buchonian.  There  was  a  man  in  court 
watching  the  case  on  behalf  of  the  Company.  I  gave 
him  my  name  in  a  quiet  corner  before  I  bought  my  hat, 
and— come  to  dinner  now;  I  '11  show  you  the  results 
afterwards." 

The  telling  of  his  wrongs  had  worked  Wilton  Sargent 
into  a  very  fine  temper,  and  I  do  not  think  that  my 
[344] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

conversation  soothed  him.  In  the  course  of  the  dinner, 
prompted  by  a  devil  of  pure  mischief,  I  dwelt  with  lov 
ing  insistence  on  certain  smells  and  sounds  of  New  York 
which  go  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  native  in  foreign 
parts;  and  Wilton  began  to  ask  many  questions  about 
his  associates  aforetime— men  of  the  New  York  Yacht 
Club,  iStorm  King,  or  the  Restigouche,  owners  of  rivers, 
ranches,  and  shipping  in  their  playtime,  lords  of  rail 
ways,  kerosene,  wheat,  and  cattle  in  their  offices.  When 
the  green  mint  came,  I  gave  him  a  peculiarly  oily  and 
atrocious  cigar,  of  the  brand  they  sell  in  the  tessellated, 
electric-lighted,  with  expensive-pictures-of-the-nude- 
adorned  bar  of  the  Pandemonium,  and  Wilton  chewed 
the  end  for  several  minutes  ere  he  lit  it.  The  butler  left 
us  alone,  and  the  chimney  of  the  oak-panelled  dining- 
room  began  to  smoke. 

u  That  's  another!  "  said  he,  poking  the  fire  savagely, 
and  I  knew  what  he  meant.  One  cannot  put  steam- 
heat  in  houses  where  Queen  Elizabeth  slept.  The  steady 
beat  of  a  night-mail,  whirling  down  the  valley,  recalled 
me  to  business.  "  What  about  the  Great  Buchonian? " 
I  said. 

"  Come  into  my  study.     That  's  all— as  yet.'* 

It  was  a  pile  of  Seidlitz-powders-coloured  correspon 
dence,  perhaps  nine  inches  high,  and  it  looked  very 
businesslike. 

' '  You  can  go  through  it, ' '  said  Wilton.  *  *  Now  I  could 
take  a  chair  and  a  red  flag  and  go  into  Hyde  Park  and 
say  the  most  atrocious  things  about  your  Queen,  and 
preach  anarchy  and  all  that,  y'  know,  till  I  was  hoarse, 
and  no  one  would  take  any  notice.  The  Police— 
[345] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

damn  'em!— would  protect  me  if  I  got  into  trouble. 
But  for  a  little  thing  like  nagging  a  dirty  little  sa  wed- 
off  train,— running  through  my  own  grounds,  too,— I 
get  the  whole  British  Constitution  down  on  me  as  if  I 
sold  bombs.  I  don't  understand  it. " 

"No  more  does  the  Great  Buchonian— apparently." 
I  was  turning  over  the  letters.  "  Here  's  the  traffic 
superintendent  writing  that  it  's  utterly  incomprehen 
sible  that  any  man  should  .  .  .  Good  heavens,  Wilton, 
you  have  done  it!  "  I  giggled,  as  I  read  on. 

"  What  's  funny  now?  "  said  my  host. 

"  It  seems  that  you,  or  Howard  for  you,  stopped  the 
three-forty  Northern  down." 

' '  I  ought  to  know  that !  They  all  had  their  knife  into 
me,  from  the  engine-driver  up." 

"  But  it 's  the  three-forty— the  Induna— surely  you  've 
heard  of  the  Great  Buchonian 's  Induna!  " 

"  How  the  deuce  am  I  to  know  one  train  from  another? 
They  come  along  about  every  two  minutes." 

"  Quite  so.  But  this  happens  to  be  .the  Induna— the 
one  train  of  the  whole  line.  She  's  timed  for  fifty-seven 
miles  an  hour.  She  was  put  on  early  in  the  Sixties, 
and  she  has  never  been  stopped—" 

"  I  know!  Since  William  the  Conqueror  came  over, 
or  King  Charles  hid  in  her  smoke-stack.  You  're  as 
bad  as  the  rest  of  these  Britishers.  If  she  's  been  run 
all  that  while,  it 's  time  she  was  flagged  once  or  twice." 

The  American  was  beginning  to  ooze  out  all  over  Wil 
ton,  and  his  small-boned  hands  were  moving  restlessly. 

"  Suppose  you  flagged  the  Empire  State  Express,  or 
the  Western  Cyclone? " 

[346] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

"  Suppose  I  did.  I  know  Otis  Harvey— or  used  to. 
I  'd  send  him  a  wire,  and  he  'd  understand  it  was  a 
ground-hog  case  with  me.  That  's  exactly  what  I  told 
this  British  fossil  company  here." 

"  Have  you  been  answering  their  letters  without  legal 
advice,  then?" 

"  Of  course  I  have." 

"  Oh,  my  Sainted  Country!    Go  ahead,  Wilton." 

"I  wrote  'em  that  I  'd  be  very  happy  to  see  their 
president  and  explain  to  him  in  three  words  all  about  it; 
but  that  would  n't  do.  'Seems  their  president  must  be 
a  god.  He  was  too  busy,  and— well,  you  can  read  for 
yourself —they  wanted  explanations.  The  station-mas 
ter  at  Amberley  Royal— and  he  grovels  before  me,  as  a 
rule— wanted  an  explanation,  and  quick,  too.  The  head 
sachem  at  St.  Botolph's  wanted  three  or  four,  and  the 
Lord  High  Mukkamuk  that  oils  the  locomotives  wanted 
one  every  fine  day.  I  told  'em — I  've  told  tern  about 
fifty  times— I  stopped  their  holy  and  sacred  train  because 
I  wanted  to  board  her.  Did  they  think  I  wanted  to  feel 
her  pulse?" 

"  You  did  n't  say  that? " 

"  *  Feel  her  pulse '?    Of  course  not." 

"No.     'Board  her.'" 

"  What  else  could  I  say? " 

"  My  dear  Wilton,  what  is  the  use  of  Mrs.  Sherborne, 
and  the  Clays,  and  all  that  lot  working  over  you  for 
four  years  to  make  an  Englishman  out  of  you,  if  the 
very  first  tune  you  're  rattled  you  go  back  to  the 
vernacular? " 

"  I  'm  through  with  Mrs.  Sherborne  and  the  rest  of 
[347] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

the  crowd.  America  's  good  enough  for  me.  What 
ought  I  to  have  said?  *  Please,'  or  '  thanks  awf'ly,'  or 
how?" 

There  was  no  chance  now  of  mistaking  the  man's 
nationality.  Speech,  gesture,  and  step,  so  carefully 
drilled  into  him,  had  gone  away  with  the  borrowed  mask 
of  indifference.  It  was  a  lawful  son  of  the  Youngest 
People,  whose  predecessors  were  the  Red  Indian.  His 
voice  had  risen  to  the  high,  throaty  crow  of  his  breed 
when  they  labour  under  excitement.  His  close-set  eyes 
showed  by  turns  unnecessary  fear,  annoyance  beyond 
reason,  rapid  and  purposeless  flights  of  thought,  the 
child's  lust  for  immediate  revenge,  and  the  child's 
pathetic  bewilderment,  who  knocks  his  head  against 
the  bad,  wicked  table.  And  on  the  other  side,  I  knew, 
stood  the  Company,  as  unable  as  Wilton  to  under 
stand. 

"  And  I  could  buy  their  old  road  three  times  over," 
he  muttered,  playing  with  a  paper-knife,  and  moving 
restlessly  to  and  fro. 

"  You  did  n't  tell  'em  that,  I  hopel  " 

There  was  no  answer;  but  as  I  went  through  the  let 
ters,  I  felt  that  Wilton  must  have  told  them  many  sur 
prising  things.  The  Great  Buchonian  had  first  asked 
for  an  explanation  of  the  stoppage  of  their  Induna,  and 
had  found  a  certain  levity  in  the  explanation  tendered. 
It  then  advised  "  Mr.  W.  Sargent "  to  refer  his  solicitor 
to  their  solicitor,  or  whatever  the  legal  phrase  is. 

"  And  you  did  n't?  "  I  said,  looking  up. 

"No.  They  were  treating  me  exactly  as  if  I  had 
been  a  kid  playing  on  the  cable-tracks.  There  was  not 
[348] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

the  least  necessity  for  any  solicitor.  Five  minutes' 
quiet  talk  would  have  settled  everything." 

I  returned  to  the  correspondence.  The  Great  Bu- 
chonian  regretted  that,  owing  to  pressure  of  business, 
none  of  their  directors  could  accept  Mr.  W.  Sargent's 
invitation  to  run  down  and  discuss  the  difficulty.  The 
Great  Buchonian  was  careful  to  point  out  that  no  ani 
mus  underlay  their  action,  nor  was  money  their  object. 
Their  duty  was  to  protect  the  interests  of  their  line,  and 
these  interests  could  not  be  protected  if  a  precedent  were 
established  whereby  any  of  the  Queen's  subjects  could 
stop  a  train  in  mid-career.  Again  (this  was  another 
branch  of  the  correspondence,  not  more  than  five  heads 
of  departments  being  concerned),  the  Company  admitted 
that  there  was  some  reasonable  doubt  as  to  the  duties 
of  express-trains  in  all  crises,  and  the  matter  was  open 
to  settlement  by  process  of  law  till  an  authoritative 
ruling  was  obtained— from  the  House  of  Lords,  if 
necessary. 

"  That  broke  me  all  up,"  said  Wilton,  who  was  read 
ing  over  my  shoulder.  "  I  knew  I  'd  struck  the  British 
Constitution  at  last.  The  House  of  Lords— my  Lord! 
And,  anyway,  I  'm  not  one  of  the  Queen's  subjects." 

"  Why,  I  had  a  notion  that  you  'd  got  yourself  natu 
ralised." 

Wilton  blushed  hotly  as  he  explained  that  very  many 
things  must  happen  to  the  British  Constitution  ere  he 
took  out  his  papers. 

"  How  does  it  all  strike  you? "  he  said.  "  Is  n't  the 
Great  Buchonian  crazy? " 

44 1  don't  know.  You  've  done  something  that  no  one 
[349] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

ever  thought  of  doing  before,  and  the  Company  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  I  see  they  offer  to  send  down 
their  solicitor  and  another  official  of  the  Company  to 
talk  things  over  informally.  Then  here ' s  another  letter 
suggesting  that  you  put  up  a  fourteen-foot  wall,  crowned 
with  bottle-glass,  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden." 

' '  Talk  of  British  insolence !  The  man  who  recom 
mends  that  (he  's  another  bloated  functionary)  says  that 
I  shall  '  derive  great  pleasure  from  watching  the  wall 
going  up  day  by  day ' !  Did  you  ever  dream  of  such 
gall?  I  've  offered  'em  money  enough  to  buy  a  new  set 
of  cars  and  pension  the  driver  for  three  generations ;  but 
that  does  n't  seem  to  be  what  they  want.  They  expect 
me  to  go  to  the  House  of  Lords  and  get  a  ruling,  and 
build  walls  between  times.  Are  they  all  stark,  raving 
mad?  One  'ud  think  I  made  a  profession  of  flagging 
trains.  How  in  Tophet  was  I  to  know  their  old  Induna 
from  a  way-train?  I  took  the  first  that  came  along, 
and  I  've  been  jailed  and  fined  for  that  once  already/' 

"  That  was  for  slugging  the  guard." 

"  He  had  no  right  to  haul  me  out  when  I  was  half-way 
through  a  window." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? " 

"  Their  lawyer  and  the  other  official  (can't  they  trust 
their  men  unless  they  send  'em  in  pairs?)  are  coming 
here  to-night.  I  told  'em  I  was  busy,  as  a  rule,  till  after 
dinner,  but  they  might  send  along  the  entire  directorate 
if  it  eased  'em  any." 

Now,  after-dinner  visiting,  for  business  or  pleasure,  is 
the  custom  of  the  smaller  American  town,  and  not  that 
of  England,  where  the  end  of  the  day  is  sacred  to  the 
[350] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

owner,  not  the  public.  Verily,  Wilton  Sargent  had 
hoisted  the  striped  flag  of  rebellion  I 

"  Is  n't  it  time  that  the  humour  of  the  situation  began 
to  strike  you,  Wilton?  "  I  asked. 

"  Where  's  the  humour  of  baiting  an  American  citizen 
just  because  he  happens  to  be  a  millionaire— poor  devil. " 
He  was  silent  for  a  little  time,  and  then  went  on:  "Of 
course.  Now  I  see !  "  He  spun  round  and  faced  me 
excitedly.  "It  's  as  plain  as  mud.  These  ducks  are 
laying  their  pipes  to  skin  me." 

"  They  say  explicitly  they  don't  want  money!  " 

"  That  's  all  a  blind.  So  's  their  addressing  me  as  W. 
Sargent.  They  know  well  enough  who  I  am.  They 
know  I  'm  the  old  man's  son.  Why  did  n't  I  think  of 
that  before? " 

"  One  minute,  Wilton.  If  you  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  and  offered  a  reward  to  any  Eng 
lishman  who  could  tell  you  who  or  what  Merton  Sargent 
had  been,  there  would  n't  be  twenty  men  in  all  London 
to  claim  it." 

"That  's  their  insular  provincialism,  then.  I  don't 
care  a  cent.  The  old  man  would  have  wrecked  the 
Great  Buchonian  before  breakfast  for  a  pipe-opener. 
My  God,  I  '11  do  it  in  dead  earnest!  I  '11  show  'em  that 
they  can't  bulldoze  a  foreigner  for  flagging  one  of  their 
little  tin-pot  trains,  and— I  've  spent  fifty  thousand  a 
year  here,  at  least,  for  the  last  four  years. ' ' 

I  was  glad  I  was  not  his  lawyer.  I  re-read  the  cor 
respondence,  notably  the  letter  which  recommended 
him— almost  tenderly,  I  fancied— to  build  a  fourteen- 
foot  brick  wall  at  the  end  of  his  garden,  and  half-way 
[351] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

through  it  a  thought  struck  me  which  filled  me  with 
pure  joy. 

The  footman  ushered  in  two  men,  frock-coated,  grey- 
trousered,  smooth-shaven,  heavy  of  speech  and  gait.  It 
was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  but  they  looked  as  newly  come 
from  a  bath.  I  could  not  understand  why  the  elder  and 
taller  of  the  pan*  glanced  at  me  as  though  we  had  an 
understanding;  nor  why  he  shook  hands  with  an  un- 
English  warmth. 

"  This  simplifies  the  situation,"  he  said  in  an  under 
tone,  and,  as  I  stared,  he  whispered  to  his  companion: 
"  I  fear  I  shall  be  of  very  little  service  at  present.  Per 
haps  Mr.  Folsom  had  better  talk  over  the  affair  with 
Mr.  Sargent." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  here  for,"  said  Wilton. 

The  man  of  law  smiled  pleasantly,  and  said  that  he 
saw  no  reason  why  the  difficulty  should  not  be  arranged 
in  two  minutes'  quiet  talk.  His  air,  as  he  sat  down 
opposite  Wilton,  was  soothing  to  the  last  degree,  and 
his  companion  drew  me  up-stage.  The  mystery  was 
deepening,  but  I  followed  meekly,  and  heard  Wilton 
say,  with  an  uneasy  laugh : 

"I  Ve  had  insomnia  over  this  affair,  Mr.  Folsom. 
Let 's  settle  it  one  way  or  the  other,  for  heaven's  sake!  " 

"  Ah  !  Has  he  suffered  much  from  this  lately? "  said 
my  man,  with  a  preliminary  cough. 

"  I  really  can't  say,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  have  only  lately  taken  charge 
here?" 

"  I  came  this  evening.  I  am  not  exactly  in  charge  of 
anything." 

[352] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

u  I  see.  Merely  to  observe  the  course  of  events  in 
case_"  He  nodded. 

"  Exactly."    Observation,  after  all,  is  my  trade. 

He  coughed  again  slightly,  and  came  to  business. 

"Now,— I  am  asking  solely  for  information's  sake, 
—do  you  find  the  delusions  persistent? " 

"  Which  delusions? " 

"  They  are  variable,  then  ?  That  is  distinctly  curious, 
because— but  do  I  understand  that  the  type  of  the  delu 
sion  varies?  For  example,  Mr.  Sargent  believes  that  he 
can  buy  the  Great  Buchonian." 

"  Did  he  write  you  that? " 

"  He  made  the  offer  to  the  Company— on  a  half -sheet 
of  note-paper.  Now,  has  he  by  chance  gone  to  the  other 
extreme,  and  believed  that  he  is  in  danger  of  becoming 
a  pauper?  The  curious  economy  in  the  use  of  a  half- 
sheet  of  paper  shows  that  some  idea  of  that  kind  might 
have  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  the  two  delusions 
can  coexist,  but  it  is  not  common.  As  you  must  know, 
the  delusion  of  vast  wealth— the  folly  of  grandeurs,  I 
believe  our  friends  the  French  call  it— is,  as  a  rule,  per 
sistent,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others." 

Then  I  heard  Wilton's  best  English  voice  at  the  end  of 
the  study : 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  have  explained  twenty  times  already, 
I  wanted  to  get  that  scarab  in  time  for  dinner.  Suppose 
you  had  left  an  important  legal  document  in  the  same 
way?" 

"  That  touch  of  cunning  is  very  significant,"  my  fel 
low-practitioner—since  he  insisted  on  it— muttered. 

"  I  am  very  happy,  of  course,  to  meet  you;  but  if  you 
[353] 


AN  .ERROR    IN 

had  only  sent  your  president  down  to  dinner  here,  I 
could  have  settled  the  thing  in  half  a  minute.  Why,  I 
could  have  bought  the  Buchonian  from  him  while  your 
clerks  were  sending  me  this. ' '  Wilton  dropped  his  hand 
heavily  on  the  blue-and- white  correspondence,  and  the 
lawyer  started. 

"  But,  speaking  frankly,"  the  lawyer  replied,  "  it  is, 
if  I  may  say  so,  perfectly  inconceivable,  even  in  the  case 
of  the  most  important  legal  documents,  that  any  one 
should  stop  the  three-forty  express— the  Induna— Our 
Induna,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Absolutely!  "  my  companion  echoed;  then  to  me  in 
a  lower  tone:  "  You  notice,  again,  the  persistent  delu 
sion  of  wealth.  I  was  called  in  when  he  wrote  us  that. 
You  can  see  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  the  Company  to 
continue  to  run  their  trains  through  the  property  of  a 
man  who  may  at  any  moment  fancy  himself  divinely 
commissioned  to  stop  all  traffic.  If  he  had  only  referred 
us  to  his  lawyer— but,  naturally,  that  he  would  not  do, 
under  the  circumstances.  A  pity— a  great  pity.  He  is 
so  young.  By  the  way,  it  is  curious,  is  it  not,  to  note 
the  absolute  conviction  in  the  voice  of  those  who  are 
similarly  afflicted,  —heartrending,  I  might  say,  —and  the 
inability  to  follow  a  chain  of  connected  thought. ' ' 

"  I  can't  see  what  you  want,"  Wilton  was  saying  to 
the  lawyer. 

"  It  need  not  be  more  than  fourteen  feet  high— a  really 
desirable  structure,  and  it  would  be  possible  to  grow  pear- 
trees  on  the  sunny  side."  The  lawyer  was  speaking  in 
an  unprofessional  voice.  ' '  There  are  few  things  pleas- 
anter  than  to  watch,  so  to  say,  one's  own  vine  and  fig- 
[354] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

tree  in  full  bearing.  Consider  the  profit  and  amusement 
you  would  derive  from  it.  If  you  could  see  your  way 
to  doing  this,  we  could  arrange  all  the  details  with  your 
lawyer,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  Company  might  bear 
some  of  the  cost.  I  have  put  the  matter,  I  trust,  in  a 
nutshell.  If  you,  my  dear  sir,  will  interest  yourself  in 
building  that  wall,  and  will  kindly  give  us  the  name  of 
your  lawyers,  I  dare  assure  you  that  you  will  hear  no 
more  from  the  Great  Buchonian." 

"  But  why  am  I  to  disfigure  my  lawn  with  a  new 
brick  wall?" 

"  Grey  flint  is  extremely  picturesque." 

"  Grey  flint,  then,  if  you  put  it  that  way.  Why  the 
dickens  must  I  go  building  towers  of  Babylon  just  be 
cause  I  have  held  up  one  of  your  trains— once? " 

"  The  expression  he  used  in  his  third  letter  was  that 
he  wished  to  '  board  her,'  "  said  my  companion  in  my 
ear.  "  That  was  very  curious— a  marine  delusion  im 
pinging,  as  it  were,  upon  a  land  one.  What  a  marvellous 
world  he  must  move  in — and  will  before  the  curtain 
falls.  So  young,  too— so  very  young  1 " 

"Well,  if  you  want  the  plain  English  of  it,  I  'm 
damned  if  I  go  wall-building  to  your  orders.  You  can 
fight  it  all  along  the  line,  into  the  House  of  Lords  and 
out  again,  and  get  your  rulings  by  the  running  foot  if 
you  like,"  said  Wilton,  hotly.  "  Great  heavens,  man,  I 
only  did  it  once!  " 

"  We  have  at  present  no  guarantee  that  you  may  not 

do  it  again ;  and,  with  our  traffic,  we  must,  in  justice  to 

our  passengers,  demand  some  form  of  guarantee.     It 

must  not  serve  as  a  precedent.   All  this  might  hare  been 

[355] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

saved  if  you  had  only  referred  us  to  your  legal  repre 
sentative."  The  lawyer  looked  appealingly  around  the 
room.  The  dead-lock  was  complete. 

"  Wilton,"  I  asked,  "may  I  try  my  hand  now  ? " 

*  *  Anything  you  like, ' '  said  Wilton.  ' '  It  seems  I  can't 
talk  English.  I  won't  build  any  wall,  though."  He 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  said  deliberately,  for  I  perceived  that 
the  doctor's  mind  would  turn  slowly,  "  Mr.  Sargent  has 
very  large  interests  in  the  chief  railway  systems  of  his 
own  country." 

"  His  own  country  ?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

11  At  that  age  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Certainly.  He  inherited  them  from  his  father,  Mr. 
Sargent,  who  was  an  American. ' ' 

"And  proud  of  it,"  said  Wilton,  as  though  he  had 
been  a  Western  Senator  let  loose  on  the  Continent  for 
the  first  time. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  lawyer,  half  rising,  "why  did 
you  not  acquaint  the  Company  with  this  fact— this  vital 
fact— early  in  our  correspondence  ?  We  should  have 
understood.  We  should  have  made  allowances." 

"Allowances  be  damned.  Am  I  a  Red  Indian  or  a 
lunatic?" 

The  two  men  looked  guilty. 

"If  Mr.  Sargent's  friend  had  told  us  as  much  in  the 
beginning,"  said  the  doctor,  very  severely,  "much 
might  have  been  saved."  Alas  !  I  had  made  a  life's 
enemy  of  that  doctor. 

I  had  n't  a  chance,"  I  replied.     "  Now,  of  course, 
[356] 


u 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

you  can  see  that  a  man  who  owns  several  thousand 
miles  of  line,  as  Mr.  Sargent  does,  would  be  apt  to  treat 
railways  a  shade  more  casually  than  other  people." 

"  Of  course;  of  course.  He  is  an  American;  that 
accounts.  Still,  it  was  the  Induna;  but  I  can  quite 
understand  that  the  customs  of  our  cousins  across  the 
water  differ  in  these  particulars  from  ours.  And  do 
you  always  stop  trains  in  this  way  in  the  States,  Mr. 
Sargent?" 

"  I  should  if  occasion  ever  arose;  but  I  've  never  had 
to  yet.  Are  you  going  to  make  an  international  com 
plication  of  the  business? " 

' '  You  need  give  yourself  no  further  concern  whatever 
in  the  matter.  We  see  that  there  is  no  likelihood  of  this 
action  of  yours  establishing  a  precedent,  which  was  the 
only  thing  we  were  afraid  of.  Now  that  you  under 
stand  that  we  cannot  reconcile  our  system  to  any  sud 
den  stoppages,  we  feel  quite  sure  that—" 

"  I  sha'n't  be  staying  long  enough  to  flag  another 
train,"  Wilton  said  pensively. 

"  You  are  returning,  then,  to  our  fellow-kinsmen 
across  the— ah— big  pond,  you  call  it? " 

"  No,  sir.  The  ocean— the  North  Atlantic  Ocean. 
It  's  three  thousand  miles  broad,  and  three  miles  deep 
in  places.  I  wish  it  were  ten  thousand. ' ' 

"  I  am  not  so  fond  of  sea- travel  myself;  but  I  think 
it  is  every  Englishman's  duty  once  in  his  life  to  study 
the  great  branch  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  race  across  the 
ocean,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  If  ever  you  come  over,  and  care  to  flag  any  train 
[357] 


AN    ERROR    IN 

on   my  system,  I  '11— I  '11  see   you   through,"    said 
Wilton. 

"Thank  you— ah,  thank  you.  You  're  very  kind. 
I  'm  sure  I  should  enjoy  myself  immensely." 

"  We  have  overlooked  the  fact,"  the  doctor  whispered 
to  me,  "that  your  friend  proposed  to  buy  the  Great 
Buchonian." 

"  He  is  worth  anything  from  twenty  to  thirty  million 
dollars— four  to  five  million  pounds,"  I  answered, 
knowing  that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  explain. 

"  Really!  That  is  enormous  wealth.  But  the  Great 
Buchonian  is  not  in  the  market." 

"  Perhaps  he  does  not  want  to  buy  it  now." 

* '  It  would  be  impossible  under  any  circumstances, ' ' 
said  the  doctor. 

"How  characteristic!"  murmured  the  lawyer,  re 
viewing  matters  in  his  mind.  "  I  always  understood 
from  books  that  your  countrymen  were  in  a  hurry. 
And  so  you  would  have  gone  forty  miles  to  town  and 
back— before  dinner— to  get  a  scarab?  How  intensely 
American !  But  you  talk  exactly  like  an  Englishman, 
Mr.  Sargent." 

"  That  is  a  fault  that  can  be  remedied.  There  's  only 
one  question  I  'd  like  to  ask  you.  You  said  it  was  in 
conceivable  that  any  man  should  stop  a  train  on  your 
road?" 

"  And  so  it  is— absolutely  inconceivable." 

"  Any  sane  man,  that  is? " 

"  That  is  what  I  meant,  of  course.  I  mean,  with 
excep— " 

"Thank  you." 

[358] 


THE    FOURTH    DIMENSION 

The  two  men  departed.  Wilton  checked  himself  as  he 
was  about  to  fill  a  pipe,  took  one  of  my  cigars  instead, 
and  was  silent  for  fifteen  minutes. 

Then  said  he:  "  Have  you  got  a  list  of  the  Southamp 
ton  sailings  on  you? " 

********** 

Far  away  from  the  greystone  wings,  the  dark  cedars, 
the  faultless  gravel  drives,  and  the  mint- sauce  lawns  of 
Holt  Hangars  runs  a  river  called  the  Hudson,  whose 
unkempt  banks  are  covered  with  the  palaces  of  those 
wealthy  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Here,  where 
the  hoot  of  the  Haverstraw  brick-barge-tug  answers  the 
howl  of  the  locomotive  on  either  shore,  you  shall  find, 
with  a  complete  installation  of  electric  light,  nickel- 
plated  binnacles,  and  a  calliope  attachment  to  her 
steam-whistle,  the  twelve-hundred-ton  ocean-going 
steam-yacht  Columbia,  lying  at  her  private  pier,  to  take 
to  his  office,  at  an  average  speed  of  seventeen  knots  an 
hour,— and  the  barges  can  look  out  for  themselves,— 
Wilton  Sargent,  American. 


[359] 


MY   SUNDAY  AT   HOME 


MY  SUNDAY  AT  HOME 

If  the  Red  Slayer  think  he  slays, 
Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 

They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 
I  keep  and  pass  and  turn  again. 

EMERSON. 

IT  was  the  unreproducible  slid  r,  as  he  said  this 
was  his  "  fy-ist "  visit  to  England,  that  told  me  he 
was  a  New-Yorker  from  New  York ;  and  when,  in  the 
course  of  our  long,  lazy  journey  westward  from  Water 
loo,  he  enlarged  upon  the  beauties  of  his  city,  I,  profess 
ing  ignorance,  said  no  word.  He  had,  amazed  and  de 
lighted  at  the  man's  civility,  given  the  London  porter  a 
shilling  for  carrying  his  bag  nearly  fifty  yards;  he  had 
thoroughly  investigated  the  first-class  lavatory  compart 
ment,  which  the  London  and  Southwestern  sometimes 
supply  without  extra  charge;  and  now,  half -awed,  half- 
contemptuous,  but  wholly  interested,  he  looked  out  upon 
the  ordered  English  landscape  wrapped  in  its  Sunday 
peace,  while  I  watched  the  wonder  grow  upon  his  face. 
Why  were  the  cars  so  short  and  stilted?  Why  had  every 
other  freight-car  a  tarpaulin  drawn  over  it  ?  What  wages 
would  an  engineer  get  now?  Where  was  the  swarming 
[363] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

population  of  England  he  had  read  so  much  about? 
What  was  the  rank  of  all  those  men  on  tricycles  along 
the  roads?  When  were  we  due  at  Plymouth? 

I  told  him  all  I  knew,  and  very  much  that  I  did  not. 
He  was  going  to  Plymouth  to  assist  in  a  consultation 
upon  a  fellow-countryman  who  had  retired  to  a  place 
called  The  Hoe— was  that  up-town  or  down- town?— to 
recover  from  nervous  dyspepsia.  Yes,  he  himself  was  a 
doctor  by  profession,  and  how  any  one  in  England  could 
retain  any  nervous  disorder  passed  his  comprehension. 
Never  had  he  dreamed  of  an  atmosphere  so  soothing. 
Even  the  deep  rumble  of  London  traffic  was  monastical 
by  comparison  with  some  cities  he  could  name;  and  the 
country— why,  it  was  Paradise.  A  continuance  of  it,  he 
confessed,  would  drive  him  mad ;  but  for  a  few  months 
it  was  the  most  sumptuous  rest-cure  in  his  knowledge. 

"  I  '11  come  over  every  year  after  this,"  he  said,  in  a 
burst  of  delight,  as  we  ran  between  two  ten-foot  hedges 
of  pink  and  white  may.  "It  's  seeing  all  the  things 
I  've  ever  read  about.  Of  course  it  does  n't  strike  you 
that  way.  I  presume  you  belong  here?  What  a  fin 
ished  land  it  is!  It  's  arrived.  'Must  have  been  born 
this  way.  Now,  where  I  used  to  live—  Hello!  what 's 
up?" 

The  train  stopped  in  a  blaze  of  sunshine  at  Framlyng- 
hame  Admiral,  which  is  made  up  entirely  of  the  name- 
board,  two  platforms,  and  an  overhead  bridge,  without 
even  the  usual  siding.  I  had  never  known  the  slowest 
of  locals  stop  here  before;  but  on  Sunday  all  things  are 
possible  to  the  London  and  Southwestern.  One  could 
hear  the  drone  of  conversation  along  the  carriages,  and, 
[364] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

scarcely  less  loud,  the  drone  of  the  bumblebees  in  the 
wallflowers  up  the  bank.  My  companion  thrust  his 
head  through  the  window  and  sniffed  luxuriously. 

"  Where  are  we  now?  "  said  he. 

"In  Wiltshire,"  said  I. 

"  Ah!  A  man  ought  to  be  able  to  write  novels  with 
his  left  hand  in  a  country  like  this.  Well,  well !  And 
so  this  is  about  Tess's  country,  ain't  it?  I  feel  just  as  if 
I  were  in  a  book.  Say,  the  conduc— the  guard  has 
something  on  his  mind.  What  's  he  getting  at  ?  " 

The  splendid  badged  and  belted  guard  was  striding  up 
the  platform  at  the  regulation  official  pace,  and  in  the 
regulation  official  voice  was  saying  at  each  door : 

"  Has  any  gentleman  here  a  bottle  of  medicine  ?  A 
gentleman  has  taken  a  bottle  ef  poison  (laudanum)  by 
mistake. ' ' 

Between  each  five  paces  he  looked  at  an  official  tele 
gram  in  his  hand,  refreshed  his  memory,  and  said  his 
say.  The  dreamy  look  on  my  companion's  face— he 
had  gone  far  away  with  Tess— passed  with  the  speed  of 
a  snap-shutter.  After  the  manner  of  his  countrymen, 
he  had  risen  to  the  situation,  jerked  his  bag  down  from 
the  overhead  rail,  opened  it,  and  I  heard  the  click  of 
bottles.  "  Find  out  where  the  man  is,"  he  said  briefly. 
"  I  've  got  something  here  that  will  fix  him— if  he  can 
swallow  still." 

Swiftly  I  fled  up  the  line  of  carriages  in  the  wake  of 
the  guard.  There  was  clamour  in  a  rear  compartment 
—the  voice  of  one  bellowing  to  be  let  out,  and  the  feet 
of  one  who  kicked.  With  the  tail  of  my  eye  I  saw  the 
New  York  doctor  hastening  thither,  bearing  in  his  hand 
[365] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

a  blue  and  brimming  glass  from  the  lavatory  compart 
ment.  The  guard  I  found  scratching  his  head  unoffi 
cially,  by  the  engine,  and  murmuring:  "  Well,  I  put  a 
bottle  of  medicine  off  at  Andover— I  'm  sure  I  did." 

"  Better  say  it  again,  any'ow,"  said  the  driver. 
"  Orders  is  orders.  Say  it  again." 

Once  more  the  guard  paced  back,  I,  anxious  to  attract 
his  attention,  trotting  at  his  heels. 

"  In  a  minute— in  a  minute,  sir,"  he  said,  waving  an 
arm  capable  of  starting  all  the  traffic  on  the  London 
and  Southwestern  Kail  way  at  a  wave.  "  Has  any 
gentleman  here  got  a  bottle  of  medicine?  A  gentleman 
has  taken  a  bottle  of  poison  (laudanum)  by  mistake." 

"  Where  's  the  man? "  I  gasped. 

"  Woking.  'Ere  's  my  orders."  He  showed  me  the 
telegram,  on  which  were  the  words  to  be  said.  "  'E  must 
have  left  'is  bottle  in  the  train,  an'  took  another  by  mis 
take.  'E  's  been  wirin'  from  Woking  awful,  an',  now  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  'm  nearly  sure  I  put  a  bottle  of 
medicine  off  at  Andover." 

"  Then  the  man  that  took  the  poison  is  n't  in  the 
train?" 

"  Lord,  no,  sir.  No  one  did  n't  take  poison  that  way. 
'E  took  it  away  with  'im,  in  'is  'ands.  'E  's  wirin' 
from  Wokin'.  My  orders  was  to  ask  everybody  in  the 
train,  and  I  'ave,  an'  we  're  four  minutes  late  now.  Are 
you  comin'  on,  sir?  No?  Eight  be'ind!  " 

There  is  nothing,  unless,  perhaps,  the  English  lan 
guage,  more  terrible  than  the  workings  of  an  English 
railway-line.  An  instant  before  it  seemed  as  though  we 
were  going  to  spend  all  eternity  at  Framlynghame 
[366] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

Admiral,  and  now  I  was  watching  the  tail  of  the  train 
disappear  round  the  curve  of  the  cutting. 

But  I  was  not  alone.  On  the  one  bench  of  the  down 
platform  sat  the  largest  navvy  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life,  softened  and  made  affable  (for  he  smiled  generously) 
with  liquor.  In  his  huge  hands  he  nursed  an  empty 
tumbler  marked  "  L.  S.W.  E."— marked  also,  internally, 
with  streaks  of  blue-grey  sediment.  Before  him,  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  stood  the  doctor,  and  as  I  came  within 
ear-shot,  this  is  what  I  heard  him  say:  "Just  you  hold 
on  to  your  patience  for  a  minute  or  two  longer,  and 
you  '11  be  as  right  as  ever  you  were  in  your  life.  I  'ZZ 
stay  with  you  till  you  're  better." 

"  Lord!  I  'm  comfortable  enough,"  said  the  navvy. 
u  Never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

Turning  to  me,  the  doctor  lowered  his  voice.  "  He 
might  have  died  while  that  fool  conduct— guard  was 
saying  his  piece.  I  've  fixed  him,  though.  The  stuff  's 
due  in  about  five  minutes,  but  there  's  a  heap  to  him. 
I  don't  see  how  we  can  make  him  take  exercise." 

For  the  moment  I  felt  as  though  seven  pounds  of 
crushed  ice  had  been  neatly  applied  in  the  f  erm  of  a  com 
press  to  my  lower  stomach. 

"  How— how  did  you  manage  it? "  I  gasped. 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  'd  have  a  drink.  He  was  knock 
ing  spots  out  of  the  car— strength  of  his  constitution,  I 
suppose.  He  said  he  'd  go  'most  anywhere  for  a  drink, 
so  I  lured  on  to  the  platform,  and  loaded  him  up.  'Cold 
blooded  people,  you  Britishers  are.  That  train  's  gone, 
and  no  one  seemed  to  care  a  cent." 

"  We  've  missed  it,"  I  said. 
[367] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  We  '11  get  another  before  sundown,  if  that 's  your 
only  trouble.  Say,  porter,  when  's  the  next  train 
down?" 

"  Seven  forty-five,"  said  the  one  porter,  and  passed 
out  through  the  wicket-gate  into  the  landscape.  It  was 
then  three-twenty  of  a  hot  and  sleepy  afternoon.  The 
station  was  absolutely  deserted.  The  navvy  had  closed 
his  eyes,  and  now  nodded. 

"  That  's  bad,"  said  the  doctor.  "  The  man,  I  mean, 
not  the  train.  We  must  make  him  walk  somehow— 
walk  up  and  down." 

Swiftly  as  might  be,  I  explained  the  delicacy  of  the 
situation,  and  the  doctor  from  New  York  turned  a  full 
bronze-green.  Then  he  swore  comprehensively  at  the 
entire  fabric  of  our  glorious  Constitution,  cursing  the 
English  language,  root,  branch,  and  paradigm,  through 
its  most  obscure  derivatives.  His  coat  and  bag  lay  on 
the  bench  next  to  the  sleeper.  Thither  he  edged  cau 
tiously,  and  I  saw  treachery  in  his  eye. 

What  devil  of  delay  possessed  him  to  slip  on  his  spring 
overcoat,  I  cannot  tell.  They  say  a  slight  noise  rouses 
a  sleeper  more  surely  than  a  heavy  one,  and  scarcely 
had  the  doctor  settled  himself  in  his  sleeves  than  the 
giant  waked  and  seized  that  silk-faced  collar  in  a  hot 
right  hand.  There  was  rage  in  his  face— rage  and  the 
realisation  of  new  emotions. 

"  I  'm— I  'm  not  so  comfortable  as  I  were,"  he  said 
from  the  deeps  of  his  interior.  "You  '11  wait  along 
o'  me,  you  will."  He  breathed  heavily  through  shut 
lips. 

[368] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  upon 
which  the  doctor  had  dwelt  in  his  conversation  with 
me,  it  was  upon  the  essential  law-abidingness,  not  to  say 
gentleness,  of  his  much-misrepresented  country.  And 
yet  (truly,  it  may  have  been  no  more  than  a  button  that 
irked  him)  I  saw  his  hand  travel  backwards  to  his  right 
hip,  clutch  at  something,  and  come  away  empty. 

* '  He  won't  kill  you, ' '  I  said.  "  He  '11  probably  sue  you 
in  court,  if  I  know  my  own  people.  Better  give  him 
some  money  from  time  to  time." 

"  If  he  keeps  quiet  till  the  stuff  gets  in  its  work,"  the 
doctor  answered,  "  I  'm  all  right.  If  he  does  n't  ... 
my  name  is  Emory— Julian  B.  Emory— 193  'Steenth 
Street,  corner  of  Madison  and—" 

"I  feel  worse  than  I  've  ever  felt,"  said  the  navvy, 
with  suddenness.  "What— did— you— give— me— the— 
drink— for?" 

The  matter  seemed  to  be  so  purely  personal  that  I 
withdrew  to  a  strategic  position  on  the  overhead  bridge, 
and,  abiding  in  the  exact  centre,  looked  on  from  afar. 

I  could  see  the  white  road  that  ran  across  the  shoulder 
of  Salisbury  Plain,  unshaded  for  mile  after  mile,  and  a 
dot  in  the  middle  distance,  the  back  of  the  one  porter 
returning  to  Framlynghame  Admiral,  if  such  a  place 
existed,  till  seven  forty-five.  The  bell  of  a  church  in 
visible  clanked  softly.  There  was  a  rustle  in  the  horse- 
chestnuts  to  the  left  of  the  line,  and  the  sound  of  sheep 
cropping  close. 

The  peace  of  Nirvana  lay  upon  the  land,  and,  brooding 
in  it,  my  elbow  on  the  warm  iron  girder  of  the  foot 
bridge  (it  is  a  forty-shilling  fine  to  cross  by  any  other 
[369] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

means),  I  perceived,  as  never  before,  how  the  conse 
quences  of  our  acts  run  eternal  through  time  and  through 
space.  If  we  impinge  never  so  slightly  upon  the  life  of 
a  fellow-mortal,  the  touch  of  our  personality,  like  the 
ripple  of  a  stone  cast  into  a  pond,  widens  and  widens  in 
unending  circles  across  the  aeons,  till  the  far-off  Gods 
themselves  cannot  say  where  action  ceases.  Also,  it 
was  I  who  had  silently  set  before  the  doctor  the  tumbler 
of  the  first-class  lavatory  compartment  now  speeding 
Plymouthward.  Yet  I  was,  in  spirit  at  least,  a  million 
leagues  removed  from  that  unhappy  man  of  another 
nationality,  who  had  chosen  to  thrust  an  inexpert  finger 
into  the  workings  of  an  alien  life.  The  machinery  was 
dragging  him  up  and  down  the  sunlit  platform.  The 
two  men  seemed  to  be  learning  polka-mazurkas  together, 
and  the  burden  of  their  song,  borne  by  one  deep  voice, 
was:  "  What  did  you  give  me  the  drink  for?  " 

I  saw  the  flash  of  silver  in  the  doctor's  hand.  The 
navvy  took  it  and  pocketed  it  with  his  left;  but  never 
for  an  instant  did  his  strong  right  leave  the  doctor's 
coat-collar,  and  as  the  crisis  approached,  louder  and 
louder  rose  his  bull-like  roar :  ' '  What  did  you  give  me 
the  drink  for?" 

They  drifted  under  the  great  twelve-inch  pinned  tim 
bers  of  the  foot-bridge  towards  the  bench,  and,  I 
gathered,  the  time  was  very  near  at  hand.  The  stuff 
was  getting  in  its  work.  Blue,  white,  and  blue  again, 
rolled  over  the  navvy's  face  in  waves,  till  all  settled  to 
one  rich  clay-bank  yellow  and— that  fell  which  fell. 

I  thought  of  the  blowing  up  of  Hell  Gate;  of  the  gey 
sers  in  the  Yellowstone  Park ;  of  Jonah  and  his  whale : 
[370] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

but  the  lively  original,  as  I  watched  it  foreshortened 
from  above,  exceeded  all  these  things.  He  staggered  to 
the  bench,  the  heavy  wooden  seat  cramped  with  iron 
cramps  into  the  enduring  stone,  and  clung  there  with 
his  left  hand.  It  quivered  and  shook,  as  a  breakwater- 
pile  quivers  to  the  rush  of  landward-racing  seas;  nor 
was  there  lacking  when  he  caught  his  breath,  the 
"  scream  of  a  maddened  beach  dragged  down  by  the 
tide."  His  right  hand  was  upon  the  doctor's  collar,  so 
that  the  two  shook  to  one  paroxysm,  pendulums  vibrat 
ing  together,  while  I,  apart,  shook  with  them. 

It  was  colossal— immense;  but  of  certain  manifesta 
tions  the  English  language  stops  short.  French  only, 
the  caryatid  French  of  Victor  Hugo,  would  have  de 
scribed  it;  so  I  mourned  while  I  laughed,  hastily  shuf 
fling  and  discarding  inadequate  adjectives.  The  vehe 
mence  of  the  shock  spent  itself,  and  the  sufferer  half  fell, 
half  knelt,  across  the  bench.  He  was  calling  now  upon 
God  and  his  wife,  huskily,  as  the  wounded  bull  calls 
upon  the  unscathed  herd  to  stay.  Curiously  enough,  he 
used  no  bad  language :  that  had  gone  from  him  with  the 
rest.  The  doctor  exhibited  gold.  It  was  taken  and 
retained.  So,  too,  was  the  grip  on  the  coat-collar. 

"  If  I  could  stand,"  boomed  the  giant,  despairingly, 
u  I  'd  smash  you— you  an'  your  drinks.  I  'm  dyin'  — 
dyin'— dyin'I" 

*  *  That  's  what  you  think, ' '  said  the  doctor.  *  *  You  '11 
find  it  will  do  you  a  lot  of  good  " ;  and,  making  a  virtue 
of  a  somewhat  imperative  necessity,  he  added:  "I  '11 
stay  by  you.  If  you  'd  let  go  of  me  a  minute  I  'd  give 
you  something  that  would  settle  you." 
[371] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

"  You  Ve  settled  me  now,  you  damned  anarchist. 
Takin'  the  bread  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  English  workin'- 
man!  But  I  '11  keep  'old  of  you  till  I  'm  well  or  dead. 
I  never  did  you  no  'arm.  S'pose  I  were  a  little  full. 
They  pumped  me  out  once  at  Guy's  with  a  stummick- 
pump.  I  could  see  that,  but  I  can't  see  this  'ere,  an' 
it  's  killin'  of  me  by  slow  degrees." 

"  You  '11  be  all  right  in  half-an-hour.  What  do  you 
suppose  I  'd  want  to  kill  you  for?  "  said  the  doctor,  who 
came  of  a  logical  breed. 

"  'Ow  do  I  know?  Tell  'em  in  court.  You  '11  get 
seven  years  for  this,  you  body-snatcher.  That  's  what 
you  are— a  bloomin'  body-snatcher.  There  's  justice,  I 
tell  you,  in  England ;  and  my  Union  '11  prosecute,  too. 
We  don't  stand  no  tricks  with  people's  insides  'ere.  They 
give  a  woman  ten  years  for  a  sight  less  than  this.  An' 
you  '11  'ave  to  pay  'undreds  an'  'undreds  o'  pounds,  be 
sides  a  pension  to  the  missus.  You  '11  see,  you  physickin' 
furriner.  Where  's  your  licence  to  do  such?  You  '11 
catch  it,  I  tell  you!" 

Then  I  observed  what  I  have  frequently  observed 
before,  that  a  man  who  is  but  reasonably  afraid  of  an 
altercation  with  an  alien  has  a  most  poignant  dread  of 
the  operations  of  foreign  law.  The  doctor's  voice  was 
flute-like  in  its  exquisite  politeness,  as  he  answered : 

"  But  I  've  given  you  a  very  great  deal  of  money— 
fif— three  pounds,  I  think." 

"  An'  what 's  three  pound  for  poisonin'  the  likes  o' 
me ?  They  told  me  at  Guy '  s  I '  d  fetch  twenty — cold — on 
the  slates.  Ouh!  It  's  comin'  again." 

A  second  time  he  was  cut  down  by  the  foot,  as  it 
[372] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

were,  and  the  straining  bench  rocked  to  and  fro  as  I 
averted  my  eyes. 

It  was  the  very  point  of  perfection  in  the  heart  of  an 
English  May-day.  The  unseen  tides  of  the  air  had 
turned,  and  all  nature  was  setting  its  face  with  the 
shadows  of  the  horse-chestnuts  towards  the  peace  of  the 
coming  night.  But  there  were  hours  yet,  I  knew— long, 
long  hours  of  the  eternal  English  twilight— to  the  end 
ing  of  the  day.  I  was  well  content  to  be  alive— to 
abandon  myself  to  the  drift  of  Time  and  Fate;  to  absorb 
great  peace  through  my  skin,  and  to  love  my  country 
with  the  devotion  that  three  thousand  miles  of  interven 
ing  sea  bring  to  fullest  flower.  And  what  a  garden  of 
Eden  it  was,  this  fatted,  clipped,  and  washen  land !  A 
man  could  camp  in  any  open  field  with  more  sense  of 
home  and  security  than  the  stateliest  buildings  of  foreign 
cities  could  afford.  And  the  joy  was  that  it  was  all  mine 
alienably— groomed  hedgerow,  spotless  road,  decent 
greystone  cottage,  serried  spinney,  tasselled  copse,  apple- 
bellied  hawthorn,  and  well-grown  tree.  A  light  puff  of 
wind— it  scattered  flakes  of  may  over  the  gleaming  rails 
—gave  me  a  faint  whiff  as  it  might  have  been  of  fresh 
cocoanut,  and  I  knew  that  the  golden  gorse  was  in  bloom 
somewhere  out  of  sight.  Linnaeus  had  thanked  God  on 
his  bended  knees  when  he  first  saw  a  field  of  it ;  and,  by 
the  way,  the  navvy  was  on  his  knees,  too.  But  he  was 
by  no  means  praying.  He  was  purely  disgustful. 

The  doctor  was  compelled  to  bend  over  him,  his  face 

towards  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  from  what  I  had  seen 

I  supposed  the  navvy  was  now  dead.     If  that  were  the 

case  it  would  be  time  for  me  to  go;  but  I  knew  that  so 

[373] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

long  as  a  man  trusts  himself  to  the  current  of  Circum 
stance,  reaching  out  for  and  rejecting  nothing  that 
comes  his  way,  no  harm  can  overtake  him.  It  is  the 
contriver,  the  schemer,  who  is  caught  by  the  Law,  and 
never  the  philosopher.  I  knew  that  when  the  play  was 
played,  Destiny  herself  would  move  me  on  from  the 
corpse;  and  I  felt  very  sorry  for  the  doctor. 

In  the  far  distance,  presumably  upon  the  road  that 
led  to  Framlynghame  Admiral,  there  appeared  a  vehicle 
and  a  horse— the  one  ancient  fly  that  almost  every  vil 
lage  can  produce  at  need.  This  thing  was  advancing, 
unpaid  by  me,  towards  the  station ;  would  have  to  pass 
along  the  deep-cut  lane,  below  the  railway-bridge,  and 
come  out  on  the  doctor's  side.  I  was  in  the  centre  of 
things,  so  all  sides  were  alike  to  me.  Here,  then,  was 
my  machine  from  the  machine.  When  it  arrived,  some 
thing  would  happen,  or  something  else.  For  the  rest,  I 
owned  my  deeply  interested  soul. 

The  doctor,  by  the  seat,  turned  so  far  as  his  cramped 
position  allowed,  his  head  over  his  left  shoulder,  and 
laid  his  right  hand  upon  his  lips.  I  threw  back  my  hat 
and  elevated  my  eyebrows  in  the  form  of  a  question. 
The  doctor  shut  his  eyes  and  nodded  his  head  slowly 
twice  or  thrice,  beckoning  me  to  come.  I  descended 
cautiously,  and  it  was  as  the  signs  had  told.  The  navvy 
was  asleep,  empty  to  the  lowest  notch;  yet  his  hand 
clutched  still  the  doctor's  collar,  and  at  the  lightest 
movement  (the  doctor  was  really  very  cramped)  tight 
ened  mechanically,  as  the  hand  of  a  sick  woman  tightens 
on  that  of  the  watcher.  He  had  dropped,  squatting 
almost  upon  his  heels,  and,  falling  lower,  had  dragged 
the  doctor  over  to  the  left. 

[374] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

The  doctor  thrust  his  right  hand,  which  was  free,  into 
his  pocket,  drew  forth  some  keys,  and  shook  his  head. 
The  navvy  gurgled  in  his  sleep.  Silently  I  dived  into 
my  pocket,  took  out  one  sovereign,  and  held  it  up  be 
tween  finger  and  thumb.  Again  the  doctor  shook  his 
head.  Money  was  not  what  was  lacking  to  his  peace. 
His  bag  had  fallen  from  the  seat  to  the  ground.  He 
looked  towards  it,  and  opened  his  mouth— O-shape. 
The  catch  was  not  a  difficult  one,  and  when  I  had  mas 
tered  it,  the  doctor's  right  forefinger  was  sawing  the 
air.  With  an  immense  caution,  I  extracted  from  the 
bag  such  a  knife  as  they  use  for  cutting  collops  off  legs. 
The  doctor  frowned,  and  with  his  first  and  second  fin 
gers  imitated  the  action  of  scissors.  Again  I  searched, 
and  found  a  most  diabolical  pair  of  cock-nosed  shears, 
capable  of  vandyking  the  interiors  of  elephants.  The 
doctor  then  slowly  lowered  his  left  shoulder  till  the 
navvy's  right  wrist  was  supported  by  the  bench,  paus 
ing  a  moment  as  the  spent  volcano  rumbled  anew. 
Lower  and  lower  the  doctor  sank,  kneeling  now  by  the 
navvy's  side,  till  his  head  was  on  a  level  with,  and  just 
in  front  of,  the  great  hairy  fist,  and— there  was  no  ten 
sion  on  the  coat-collar.  Then  light  dawned  on  me. 

Beginning  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  spinal  column,  I 
cut  a  huge  demilune  out  of  his  new  spring  overcoat, 
bringing  it  round  as  far  under  his  left  side  (which  was 
the  right  side  of  the  navvy)  as  I  dared.  Passing  thence 
swiftly  to  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  reaching  between 
the  splines,  I  sawed  through  the  silk-faced  front  on  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  coat  till  the  two  cuts  joined. 

Cautiously  as  the  box-turtle  of  his  native  heath,  the 
doctor  drew  away  sideways  and  to  the  right,  with  the 
[375] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

air  of  a  frustrated  burglar  coming  out  from  under  a  bed, 
and  stood  up  free,  one  black  diagonal  shoulder  project 
ing  through  the  grey  of  his  ruined  overcoat.  I  returned 
the  scissors  to  the  bag,  snapped  the  catch,  and  held  all 
out  to  him  as  the  wheels  of  the  fly  rang  hollow  under 
the  railway  arch. 

It  came  at  a  footpace  past  the  wicket-gate  of  the 
station,  and  the  doctor  stopped  it  with  a  whisper.  It  was 
going  some  five  miles  across  country  to  bring  home  from 
church  some  one,  —I  could  not  catch  the  name,  —because 
his  own  carriage-horses  were  lame.  Its  destination 
happened  to  be  the  one  place  in  all  the  world  that  the 
doctor  was  most  burningly  anxious  to  visit,  and  he 
promised  the  driver  untold  gold  to  drive  to  some  ancient 
flame  of  his— Helen  Blazes,  she  was  called. 

"Are  n't  you  coming,  too?"  he  said,  bundling  his 
overcoat  into  his  bag. 

Now  the  fly  had  been  so  obviously  sent  to  the  doctor, 
and  to  no  one  else,  that  I  had  no  concern  with  it.  Our 
roads,  I  saw,  divided,  and  there  was,  further,  a  need 
upon  me  to  laugh. 

"I  shall  stay  here,"  I  said.  "  It  's  a  very  pretty 
country." 

"  My  God!  "  he  murmured,  as  softly  as  he  shut  the 
door,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  a  prayer. 

Then  he  went  out  of  my  life,  and  I  shaped  my  course 
for  the  railway-bridge.  It  was  necessary  to  pass  by  the 
bench  once  more,  but  the  wicket  was  between  us.  The 
departure  of  the  fly  had  waked  the  navvy.  He  crawled 
on  to  the  seat,  and  with  malignant  eyes  watched  the 
driver  flog  down  the  road. 

[376] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

"  The  man  inside  o'  that,"  he  called,  "  'as  poisoned 
me.  'E  's  a  body-snatcher.  'E  's  comin'  back  again 
when  I  'm  cold.  'Ere  's  my  evidence!  " 

He  waved  his  share  of  the  overcoat,  and  I  went  my 
way,  because  I  was  hungry.  Framlynghame  Admiral 
village  is  a  good  two  miles  from  the  station,  and  I  waked 
the  holy  calm  of  the  evening  every  step  of  that  way 
with  shouts  and  yells,  casting  myself  down  in  the  flank 
of  the  good  green  hedge  when  I  was  too  weak  to  stand. 
There  was  an  inn,  —a  blessed  inn  with  a  thatched  roof, 
and  peonies  in  the  garden,— and  I  ordered  myself  an 
upper  chamber  in  which  the  Foresters  held  their  courts 
for  the  laughter  was  not  all  out  of  me.  A  bewildered 
woman  brought  me  ham  and  eggs,  and  I  leaned  out  of 
the  mullioned  window,  and  laughed  between  mouthfuls. 
I  sat  long  above  the  beer  and  the  perfect  smoke  that 
followed,  till  the  lights  changed  in  the  quiet  street,  and  I 
began  to  think  of  the  seven  forty-five  down,  and  all  that 
world  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  I  had  quitted. 

Descending,  I  passed  a  giant  in  moleskins  who  filled 
the  low-ceiled  tap-room.  Many  empty  plates  stood  be 
fore  him,  and  beyond  them  a  fringe  of  the  Framlynghame 
Admiralty,  to  whom  he  was  unfolding  a  wondrous  tale  of 
anarchy,  of  body-snatching,  of  bribery,  and  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  from  the  which  he  was  but  newly  risen. 
And  as  he  talked  he  ate,  and  as  he  ate  he  drank,  for 
there  was  much  room  in  him ;  and  anon  he  paid  royally, 
speaking  of  Justice  and  the  Law,  before  whom  all  Eng 
lishmen  are  equal,  and  all  foreigners  and  anarchists 
vermin  and  slime. 

On  my  way  to  the  station,  he  passed  me  with  great 
[377] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

strides,  his  head  high  among  the  low-flying  bats,  his  feet 
firm  on  the  packed  road-metal,  his  fists  clinched,  and 
his  breath  coming  sharply.  There  was  a  beautiful  smell 
in  the  air— the  smell  of  white  dust,  bruised  nettles,  and 
smoke,  that  brings  tears  to  the  throat  of  a  man  who  sees 
his  country  but  seldom— a  smell  like  the  echoes  of  the 
lost  talk  of  lovers ;  the  infinitely  suggestive  odour  of  an 
immemorial  civilisation.  It  was  a  perfect  walk;  and, 
lingering  on  every  step,  I  came  to  the  station  just  as  the 
one  porter  lighted  the  last  of  a  truck-load  of  lamps,  and 
set  them  back  in  the  lamp-room,  while  he  dealt  tickets 
to  four  or  five  of  the  population  who,  not  contented  with 
their  own  peace,  thought  fit  to  travel.  It  was  no  ticket 
that  the  navvy  seemed  to  need.  He  was  sitting  on  a 
bench,  wrathfully  grinding  a  tumbler  into  fragments 
with  his  heel.  I  abode  in  obscurity  at  the  end  of  the 
platform,  interested  as  ever,  thank  Heaven,  in  my  sur 
roundings.  There  was  a  jar  of  wheels  on  the  road.  The 
navvy  rose  as  they  approached,  strode  through  the 
wicket,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  a  horse's  bridle  that 
brought  the  beast  up  on  his  hireling  hind  legs.  It  was 
the  providential  fly  coming  back,  and  for  a  moment  I 
wondered  whether  the  doctor  had  been  mad  enough  to 
revisit  his  practice. 

"  Get  away;  you  're  drunk,"  said  the  driver. 

"  I  'm  not,"  said  the  navvy.     "  I  've  been  waitin'  'ere 
hours  and  hours.    Come  out,  you  beggar  inside  there! " 

"  Go  on,  driver,"  said  a  voice  I  did  not  know— a  crisp, 
clear,  English  voice. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  navvy.     "  You  would  n't  'ear 
ine  when  I  was  polite.     Now  will  you  come?  " 
[378] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

There  was  a  chasm  in  the  side  of  the  fly,  for  he  had 
wrenched  the  door  bodily  off  its  hinges,  and  was  feeling 
within  purposefully.  A  well-booted  leg  rewarded  him, 
and  there  came  out,  not  with  delight,  hopping  on  one 
foot,  a  round  and  grey-haired  Englishman,  from  whose 
armpits  dropped  hymn-books,  but  from  his  mouth  an 
altogether  different  service  of  song. 

'  *  Come  on,  you  bloomin'  body-snatcher !  You  thought 
I  was  dead,  did  you?"  roared  the  navvy.  And  the  re 
spectable  gentleman  came  accordingly,  inarticulate  with 
rage. 

"  'Ere  's  a  man  murderin'  the  Squire,"  the  driver 
shouted,  and  fell  from  his  box  upon  the  navvy's  neck. 

To  do  them  justice,  the  people  of  Framlynghame  Ad 
miral,  so  many  as  were  on  the  platform,  rallied  to  the 
call  in  the  best  spirit  of  feudalism.  It  was  the  one  por 
ter  who  beat  the  navvy  on  the  nose  with  a  ticket-punch, 
but  it  was  the  three  third-class  tickets  who  attached 
themselves  to  his  legs  and  freed  the  captive. 

"  Send  for  a  constable!  lock  him  up!  "  said  that  man, 
adjusting  his  collar;  and  unitedly  they  cast  him  into  the 
lamp-room,  and  turned  the  key,  while  the  driver 
mourned  over  the  wrecked  fly. 

Till  then  the  navvy,  whose  only  desire  was  justice, 
had  kept  his  temper  nobly.  Then  he  went  Berserk  be 
fore  our  amazed  eyes.  The  door  of  the  lamp-room  was 
generously  constructed,  and  would  not  give  an  inch, 
but  the  window  he  tore  from  its  fastenings  and  hurled 
outwards.  The  one  porter  counted  the  damage  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  the  others,  arming  themselves  with  agri 
cultural  implements  from  the  station  garden,  kept  up  a 
[379] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

ceaseless  winnowing  before  the  window,  themselves 
backed  close  to  the  wall,  and  bade  the  prisoner  think  of 
the  gaol.  He  answered  little  to  the  point,  so  far  as  they 
could  understand ;  but  seeing  that  his  exit  was  impeded, 
he  took  a  lamp  and  hurled  it  through  the  wrecked  sash. 
It  fell  on  the  metals  and  went  out.  With  inconceivable 
velocity,  the  others,  fifteen  in  all,  followed,  looking  like 
rockets  in  the  gloom,  and  with  the  last  (he  could  have 
had  no  plan)  the  Berserk  rage  left  him  as  the  doctor's 
deadly  brewage  waked  up,  under  the  stimulus  of  violent 
exercise  and  a  very  full  meal,  to  one  last  cataclysmal 
exhibition,  and— we  heard  the  whistle  of  the  seven  forty- 
five  down. 

They  were  all  acutely  interested  in  as  much  of  the 
wreck  as  they  could  see,  for  the  station  smelt  to  Heaven 
of  oil,  and  the  engine  skittered  over  broken  glass  like  a 
terrier  in  a  cucumber-frame.  The  guard  had  to  hear  of  it, 
and  the  Squire  had  his  version  of  the  brutal  assault,  and 
heads  were  out  all  along  the  carriages  as  I  found  me  a  seat. 

"  What  is  the  row? "  said  a  young  man,  as  I  entered. 
'"Man  drunk?" 

"  Well,  the  symptoms,  so  far  as  my  observation  has 
gone,  more  resemble  those  of  Asiatic  cholera  than  any 
thing  else,"  I  answered,  slowly  and  judicially,  that 
every  word  might  carry  weight  in  the  appointed  scheme 
of  things.  Up  till  then,  you  will  observe,  I  had  taken 
no  part  in  that  war. 

He  was  an  Englishman,  but  he  collected  his  belongings 
as  swiftly  as  had  the  American,  ages  before,  and  leaped 
upon  the  platform,  crying:  "  Can  I  be  of  any  service? 
I  'm  a  doctor." 

[380] 


MY    SUNDAY    AT    HOME 

From  the  lamp-room  I  heard  a  wearied  voice  wailing : 
u  Another  bloomin'  doctor!  " 

And  the  seven  forty-five  carried  me  on,  a  step  nearer 
to  Eternity,  by  the  road  that  is  worn  and  seamed  and 
channelled  with  the  passions,  and  weaknesses,  and 
warring  interests  of  man  who  is  immortal  and  master 
of  his  fate. 


[381] 


THE  BRUSHWOOD  BOY 


THE   BRUSHWOOD   BOY 

Girls  and  boys,  come  out  to  play : 

The  moon  is  shining  as  bright  as  day ! 

Leave  your  supper  and  leave  your  sleep, 

And  come  with  your  playfellows  out  in  the  street ! 

Up  the  ladder  and  down  the  wall — 

A  CHILD  of  three  sat  up  in  his  crib  and  screamed  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  his  fists  clinched  and  his  eyes 
full  of  terror.  At  first  no  one  heard,  for  his  nursery 
was  in  the  west  wing,  and  the  nurse  was  talking  to  a 
gardener  among  the  laurels.  Then  the  housekeeper 
passed  that  way,  and  hurried  to  soothe  him.  He  was 
her  special  pet,  and  she  disapproved  of  the  nurse. 

"  What  was  it,  then?    What  was  it,  then?   There  's 
nothing  to  frighten  him,  Georgie  dear." 

ult  was— it  was  a  policeman!    He  was  on  the  Down 
—I  saw  him!     He  came  in.     Jane  said  he  would. " 

u  Policemen  don't  come  into  houses,  dearie.     Turn 
over,  and  take  my  hand." 

"  I  saw  him— on  the  Down.     He  came  here.     Where 
is  your  hand,  Harper?  " 

The  housekeeper  waited  till  the  sobs  changed  to  the 
regular  breathing  of  sleep  before  she  stole  out. 

"  Jane,  what  nonsense  have  you  been  telling  Master 
Georgie  about  policemen? " 

[385] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  I  have  n't  told  him  anything." 

"  You  have.     He  's  been  dreaming  about  them." 

"  We  met  Tisdall  on  Dowhead  when  we  were  in  the 
donkey-cart  this  morning.  P'r'aps  that  's  what  put  it 
into  his  head." 

"Oh!     Now  you  are  n't  going  to  frighten  the  child 
into  fits  with  your  silly  tales,  and  the  master  know 
nothing  about  it.     If  ever  I  catch  you  again, ' '  etc. 
********** 

A  child  of  six  was  telling  himself  stories  as  he  lay  in 
bed.  It  was  a  new  power,  and  he  kept  it  a  secret.  A 
month  before  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  carry  on  a  nur 
sery  tale  left  unfinished  by  his  mother,  and  he  was 
delighted  to  find  the  tale  as  it  came  out  of  his  own 
head  just  as  surprising  as  though  he  were  listening  to  it 
"  all  new  from  the  beginning."  There  was  a  prince  in 
that  tale,  and  he  killed  dragons,  but  only  for  one  night. 
Ever  afterwards  Georgie  dubbed  himself  prince,  pasha, 
giant-killer,  and  all  the  rest  (you  see,  he  could  not  tell 
any  one,  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at),  and  his  tales 
faded. gradually  into  dreamland,  where  adventures  were 
so  many  that  he  could  not  recall  the  half  of  them. 
They  all  began  in  the  same  way,  or,  as  Georgie  ex 
plained  to  the  shadows  of  the  night-light,  there  was 
"the  same  starting-off  place"— a  pile  of  brushwood 
stacked  somewhere  near  a  beach ;  and  round  this  pile 
Georgie  found  himself  running  races  with  little  boys  and 
girls.  These  ended,  ships  ran  high  up  the  dry  land  and 
opened  into  cardboard  boxes;  or  gilt-and-green  iron 
railings  that  surrounded  beautiful  gardens  turned  all 
soft  and  could  be  walked  through  and  overthrown  so 
[386] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

long  as  he  remembered  it  was  only  a  dream.  He  could 
never  hold  that  knowledge  more  than  a  few  seconds  ere 
things  became  real,  and  instead  of  pushing  down  houses 
full  of  grown-up  people  (a  just  revenge),  he  sat  miserably 
Upon  gigantic  door-steps  trying  to  sing  the  multiplica 
tion-table  up  to  four  times  six. 

The  princess  of  his  tales  was  a  person  of  wonderful 
beauty  (she  came  from  the  old  illustrated  edition  of 
Grimm,  now  out  of  print),  and  as  she  always  applauded 
Georgie's  valour  among  the  dragons  and  buffaloes,  he 
gave  her  the  two  finest  names  he  had  ever  heard  in  his 
life— Annie  and  Louise,  pronounced  "  Annieanlouise. " 
When  the  dreams  swamped  the  stories,  she  would  change 
into  one  of  the  little  girls  round  the  brushwood-pile,  still 
keeping  her  title  and  crown.  She  saw  Georgie  drown 
once  in  a  dream-sea  by  the  beach  (it  was  the  day  after 
he  had  been  taken  to  bathe  in  a  real  sea  by  his  nurse) ; 
and  he  said  as  he  sank:  "  Poor  Annieanlouise!  She  '11 
be  sorry  for  me  now ! ' '  But  ' '  Anniecmlouise, ' '  walking 
slowly  on  the  beach,  called,  "  '  Ha!  ha! '  said  the  duck, 
laughing, ' '  which  to  a  waking  mind  might  not  seem  to 
bear  on  the  situation.  It  consoled  Georgie  at  once,  and 
must  have  been  some  kind  of  spell,  for  it  raised  the  bot 
tom  of  the  deep,  and  he  waded  out  with  a  twelve-inch 
flower-pot  on  each  foot.  As  he  was  strictly  forbidden 
to  meddle  with  flower-pots  in  real  life,  he  felt  triumph 
antly  wicked. 

********** 

The  movements  of  the  grown-ups,  whom  Georgie 
tolerated,  but  did  not  pretend  to  understand,  removed 
his  world,  when  he  was  seven  years  old,  to  a  place 
[387] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

called  "  Oxford-on-a- visit. "  Here  were  huge  building!* 
surrounded  by  vast  prairies,  with  streets  of  infinite 
length,  and,  above  all,  something  called  the  ' '  buttery, ' ' 
which  Georgie  was  dying  to  see,  because  he  knew  it 
must  be  greasy,  and  therefore  delightful.  He  perceived 
how  correct  were  his  judgments  when  his  nurse  led  him 
through  a  stone  arch  into  the  presence  of  an  enormously 
fat  man,  who  asked  him  if  he  would  like  some  bread 
and  cheese.  Georgie  was  used  to  eat  all  round  the  clock, 
so  he  took  what ' '  buttery  ' '  gave  him,  and  would  have 
taken  some  brown  liquid  called  ' '  auditale ' '  but  that  his 
nurse  led  him  away  to  an  afternoon  performance  of  a 
thing  called  "Pepper's  Ghost."  This  was  intensely 
thrilling.  People's  heads  came  off  and  flew  all  over  the 
stage,  and  skeletons  danced  bone  by  bone,  while  Mr. 
Pepper  himself,  beyond  question  a  man  of  the  worst, 
waved  his  arms  and  flapped  a  long  gown,  and  in  a  deep 
bass  voice  (Georgie  had  never  heard  a  man  sing  before) 
told  of  his  sorrows  unspeakable.  Some  grown-up  or 
other  tried  to  explain  that  the  illusion  was  made  with 
mirrors,  and  that  there  was  no  need  to  be  frightened. 
Georgie  did  not  know  what  illusions  were,  but  he  did 
know  that  a  mirror  was  the  looking-glass  with  the  ivory 
handle  on  his  mother's  dressing- table.  Therefore  the 
"  grown-up  "  was  "  just  saying  things  "  after  the  dis 
tressing  custom  of ' '  grown-ups, ' '  and  Georgie  cast  about 
for  amusement  between  scenes.  Next  to  him  sat  a  little 
girl  dressed  all  in  black,  her  hair  combed  off  her  forehead 
exactly  like  the  girl  in  the  book  called  "  Alice  in  "Won 
derland,  ' '  which  had  been  given  him  on  his  last  birthday. 
The  little  girl  looked  at  Georgie,  and  Georgie  looked  at 
[388] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

her.  There  seemed  to  be  no  need  of  any  further  intro 
duction. 

"I  've  got  a  cut  on  my  thumb,"  said  he.  It  was  the 
first  work  of  his  first  real  knife,  a  savage  triangular 
hack,  and  he  esteemed  it  a  most  valuable  possession. 

"I  'm  tho  thorry!"  she  lisped.  "Let  me  look— 
pleathe." 

"  There  's  a  di-ack-lum  plaster  on,  but  it  's  all  raw 
under,"  Georgie  answered,  complying. 

"  Dothent  it  hurt?  "—her  grey  eyes  were  full  of  pity 
and  interest. 

"  Awf'ly.     Perhaps  it  will  give  me  lockjaw." 

"It  lookth  very  horrid.  I  'm  tho  thorry!"  She 
put  a  forefinger  to  his  hand,  and  held  her  head  sidewise 
for  a  better  view. 

Here  the  nurse  turned,  and  shook  him  severely. 
"You  mustn't  talk  to  strange  little  girls,  Master 
Georgie." 

"  She  is  n't  strange.  She  's  very  nice.  I  like  her, 
an'  I  've  showed  her  my  new  cut." 

' '  The  idea !    You  change  places  with  me. ' ' 

She  moved  him  over,  and  shut  out  the  little  girl  from 
his  view,  while  the  grown-up  behind  renewed  the  futile 
explanations. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  truly,"  said  the  boy,  wriggling  in 
despair;  "  but  why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  in  the  after 
noons,  same  as  Provost  of  Oriel? " 

Georgie  had  been  introduced  to  a  grown-up  of  that 

name,  who    slept   in   his    presence   without   apology. 

Georgie  understood  that  he  was  the  most  important 

grown-up  in  Oxford ;  hence  he  strove  to  gild  his  rebuke 

[389] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

with  flatteries.  This  grown-up  did  not  seem  to  like  it, 
but  he  collapsed,  and  Georgie  lay  back  in  his  seat,  silent 
and  enraptured.  Mr.  Pepper  was  singing  again,  and 
the  deep,  ringing  voice,  the  red  fire,  and  the  misty, 
waving  gown  all  seemed  to  be  mixed  up  with  the  little 
girl  who  had  been  so  kind  about  his  cut.  When  the 
performance  was  ended  she  nodded  to  Georgie,  and 
Georgie  nodded  in  return.  He  spoke  no  more  than  was 
necessary  till  bedtime,  but  meditated  on  new  colors  and 
sounds  and  lights  and  music  and  things  as  far  as  he 
understood  them;  the  deep-mouthed  agony  of  Mr.  Pep 
per  mingling  with  the  little  girl's  lisp.  That  night  he 
made  a  new  tale,  from  which  he  shamelessly  removed 
the  Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair  princess,  gold 
crown,  Grimm  edition,  and  all,  and  put  a  new  Annie- 
cmlouise  in  her  place.  So  it  was  perfectly  right  and 
natural  that  when  he  came  to  the  brushwood-pile  he 
should  find  her  waiting  for  him,  her  hair  combed  off  her 
forehead  more  like  Alice  in  Wonderland  than  ever,  and 
the  races  and  adventures  began. 

********** 
Ten  years  at  an  English  public  school  do  not  encour 
age  dreaming.  Georgie  won  his  growth  and  chest 
measurement,  and  a  few  other  things  which  did  not  ap 
pear  in  the  bills,  under  a  system  of  cricket,  foot-ball, 
and  paper-chases,  from  four  to  five  days  a  week,  which 
provided  for  three  lawful  cuts  of  a  ground-ash  if  any 
boy  absented  himself  from  these  entertainments.  He 
became  a  rumple- collared,  dusty-hatted  fag  of  the  Lower 
Third,  and  a  light  half-back  at  Little  Side  foot-ball;  was 
pushed  and  prodded  through  the  slack  back-waters  of 
[390] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

the  Lower  Fourth,  where  the  raffle  of  a  school  generally 
accumulates ;  won  his ' '  second-fifteen ' '  cap  at  foot-ball, 
enjoyed  the  dignity  of  a  study  with  two  companions  in 
it,  and  began  to  look  forward  to  office  as  a  sub-prefect. 
At  last  he  blossomed  into  full  glory  as  head  of  the  school, 
ex-officio  captain  of  the  games ;  head  of  his  house,  where 
he  and  his  lieutenants  preserved  discipline  and  decency 
among  seventy  boys  from  twelve  to  seventeen ;  general 
arbiter  in  the  quarrels  that  spring  up  among  the  touchy 
Sixth— and  intimate  friend  and  ally  of  the  Head  himself. 
When  he  stepped  forth  in  the  black  jersey,  white  knick 
ers,  and  black  stockings  of  the  First  Fifteen,  the  new 
match-ball  under  his  arm,  and  his  old  and  frayed  cap  at 
the  back  of  his  head,  the  small  fry  of  the  lower  forms 
stood  apart  and  worshipped,  and  the  "  new  caps  "  of  the 
team  talked  to  him  ostentatiously,  that  the  world  might 
see.  And  so,  in  summer,  when  he  came  back  to  the 
pavilion  after  a  slow  but  eminently  safe  game,  it  mat 
tered  not  whether  he  had  made  nothing  or,  as  once 
happened,  a  hundred  and  three,  the  school  shouted  just 
the  same,  and  women-folk  who  had  come  to  look  at  the 
match  looked  at  Cottar— Cottar,  major ;  "  that  's  Cot 
tar!  "  Above  all,  he  was  responsible  for  that  thing 
called  the  tone  of  the  school,  and  few  realise  with  what 
passionate  devotion  a  certain  type  of  boy  throws  him 
self  into  this  work.  Home  was  a  far-away  country,  full 
of  ponies  and  fishing  and  shooting,  and  men- visitors 
who  interfered  with  one's  plans;  but  school  was  the  real 
world,  where  things  of  vital  importance  happened,  and 
crises  arose  that  must  be  dealt  with  promptly  and  quietly. 
Not  for  nothing  was  it  written,  "  Let  the  Consuls  look  to 
[391] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

it  that  the  Republic  takes  no  harm, ' '  and  Georgie  was 
glad  to  be  back  in  authority  when  the  holidays  ended. 
Behind  him,  but  not  too  near,  was  the  wise  and  tem 
perate  Head,  now  suggesting  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent, 
now  counselling  the  mildness  of  the  dove ;  leading  him 
on  to  see,  more  by  half -hints  than  by  any  direct  word, 
how  boys  and  men  are  all  of  a  piece,  and  how  he  who 
can  handle  the  one  will  assuredly  in  time  control  the 
other. 

For  the  rest,  the  school  was  not  encouraged  to  dwell 
on  its  emotions,  but  rather  to  keep  in  hard  condition,  to 
avoid  false  quantities,  and  to  enter  the  army  direct, 
without  the  help  of  the  expensive  London  crammer, 
under  whose  roof  young  blood  learns  too  much.  Cottar, 
major,  went  the  way  of  hundreds  before  him.  The  Head 
gave  him  six  months'  final  polish,  taught  him  what  kind 
of  answers  best  please  a  certain  kind  of  examiners,  and 
handed  him  over  to  the  properly  constituted  authorities, 
who  passed  him  into  Sandhurst.  Here  he  had  sense 
enough  to  see  that  he  was  in  the  Lower  Third  once  more, 
and  behaved  with  respect  toward  his  seniors,  till  they 
in  turn  respected  him,  and  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  corporal,  and  sat  in  authority  over  mixed  peoples 
with  all  the  vices  of  men  and  boys  combined.  His  re 
ward  was  another  string  of  athletic  cups,  a  good-con 
duct  sword,  and,  at  last,  Her  Majesty's  commission  as 
a  subaltern  in  a  first-class  line  regiment.  He  did  not 
know  that  he  bore  with  him  from  school  and  college  a 
character  worth  much  fine  gold,  but  was  pleased  to  find 
his  mess  so  kindly.  He  had  plenty  of  money  of  his 
own;  his  training  had  set  the  public-school  mask  upon 
[392] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

his  face,  and  had  taught  him  how  many  were  the 
"things  no  fellow  can  do."  By  virtue  of  the  same 
training  he  kept  his  pores  open  and  his  mouth  shut. 

The  regular  working  of  the  Empire  shifted  his  world 
to  India,  where  he  tasted  utter  loneliness  in  subaltern's 
quarters,— one  room  and  one  bullock-trunk,— and,  with 
his  mess,  learned  the  new  life  from  the  beginning.  But 
there  were  horses  in  the  land— ponies  at  reasonable 
price ;  there  was  polo  for  such  as  could  afford  it ;  there 
were  the  disreputable  remnants  of  a  pack  of  hounds; 
and  Cottar  worried  his  way  along  without  too  much 
despair.  It  dawned  on  him  that  a  regiment  in  India 
was  nearer  the  chance  of  active  service  than  he  had 
conceived,  and  that  a  man  might  as  well  study  his 
profession.  A  major  of  the  new  school  backed  this  idea 
with  enthusiasm,  and  he  and  Cottar  accumulated  a 
library  of  military  works,  and  read  and  argued  and  dis 
puted  far  into  the  nights.  But  the  adjutant  said  the 
old  thing:  "Get  to  know  your  men,  young  un,  and 
they  '11  follow  you  anywhere.  That  's  all  you  want- 
know  your  men. ' '  Cottar  thought  he  knew  them  fairly 
well  at  cricket  and  the  regimental  sports,  but  he  never 
realised  the  true  inwardness  of  them  till  he  was  sent  oif 
with  a  detachment  of  twenty  to  sit  down  in  a  mud  fort 
near  a  rushing  river  which  was  spanned  by  a  bridge  of 
boats.  When  the  floods  came  they  went  forth  and 
hunted  strayed  pontoons  along  the  banks.  Otherwise 
there  was  nothing  to  do,  and  the  men  got  drunk,  gam 
bled,  and  quarrelled.  They  were  a  sickly  crew,  for  a 
junior  subaltern  is  by  custom  saddled  with  the  worst 
men.  Cottar  endured  their  rioting  as  long  as  he  could, 
[393] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

and  then  sent  down-country  for  a  dozen  pairs  of  boxing- 
gloves. 

u  I  would  n't  blame  you  for  fightin',"  said  he,  "  if 
you  only  knew  how  to  use  your  hands;  but  you  don't. 
Take  these  things,  and  I  '11  show  you."  The  men 
appreciated  his  efforts.  Now,  instead  of  blaspheming 
and  swearing  at  a  comrade,  and  threatening  to  shoot 
him,  they  could  take  him  apart,  and  soothe  themselves 
to  exhaustion.  As  one  explained  whom  Cottar  found 
with  a  shut  eye  and  a  diamond-shaped  mouth  spitting 
blood  through  an  embrasure:  "We  tried  it  with  the 
gloves,  sir,  for  twenty  minutes,  and  that  done  us  no 
good,  sir.  Then  we  took  off  the  gloves  and  tried  it  that 
way  for  another  twenty  minutes,  same  as  you  showed 
us,  sir,  an'  that  done  us  a  world  o'  good.  'T  was  n't 
fightin',  sir;  there  was  a  bet  on." 

Cottar  dared  not  laugh,  but  he  invited  his  men  to 
other  sports,  such  as  racing  across  country  in  shirt  and 
trousers  after  a  trail  of  torn  paper,  and  to  single-stick  in 
the  evenings,  till  the  native  population,  who  had  a  lust 
for  sport  in  every  form,  wished  to  know  whether  the 
white  men  understood  wrestling.  They  sent  in  an 
ambassador,  who  took  the  soldiers  by  the  neck  and 
threw  them  about  the  dust;  and  the  entire  command 
were  all  for  this  new  game.  They  spent  money  on 
learning  new  falls  and  holds,  which  was  better  than 
buying  other  doubtful  commodities ;  and  the  peasantry 
grinned  five  deep  round  the  tournaments. 

That  detachment,  who  had  gone  up  in  bullock-carts, 
returned  to  headquarters  at  an  average  rate  of  thirty 
miles  a  day,  fair  heel-and-toe;  no  sick,  no  prisoners, 
[394] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

and  no  court  martials  pending.  They  scattered  them 
selves  among  their  friends,  singing  the  praises  of  their 
lieutenant  and  looking  for  causes  of  offense. 

"  How  did  you  do  it,  young  un?  "  the  adjutant  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  sweated  the  beef  off  'em,  and  then  I  sweated 
some  muscle  on  to  'em.  It  was  rather  a  lark." 

"If  that  's  your  way  of  lookin'  at  it,  we  can  give 
you  all  the  larks  you  want.  Young  Davies  is  n't  feelin' 
quite  fit,  and  he  's  next  for  detachment  duty.  Care  to 
go  for  him?" 

"  'Sure  he  would  n't  mind?  I  don't  want  to  shove 
myself  forward,  you  know." 

"You  need  n't  bother  on  Davies's  account.  We  '11 
give  you  the  sweepin's  of  the  corps,  and  you  can  see 
what  you  can  make  of  'em." 

"All  right,"  said  Cottar.  "  It  's  better  fun  than 
loafin'  about  cantonments." 

"  Rummy  thing,"  said  the  adjutant,  after  Cottar  had 
returned  to  his  wilderness  with  twenty  other  devils 
worse  than  the  first.  ' '  If  Cottar  only  knew  it,  half  the 
women  in  the  station  would  give  their  eyes— confound 
'em!— to  have  the  young  un  in  tow." 

"  That  accounts  for  Mrs.  Elery  sayin'  I  was  workin' 
my  nice  new  boy  too  hard, ' '  said  a  wing  commander. 

"  Oh,  yes;  and  *  Why  does  n't  he  come  to  the  band 
stand  in  the  evenings? '  and  '  Can't  I  get  him  to  make 
up  a  four  at  tennis  with  the  Hammon  girls? '  "  the  ad 
jutant  snorted.  "Look  at  young  Davies  makin'  an 
ass  of  himself  over  mutton-dressed-as-lamb  old  enough 
to  be  his  mother!  " 

"No  one  can  accuse  young  Cottar  of  runnin'  after 
[395] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

women,  white  or  black,"  the  major  replied  thoughtfully. 
"  But,  then,  that  's  the  kind  that  generally  goes  the 
worst  mucker  in  the  end." 

"  Not  Cottar.  I  've  only  run  across  one  of  his  mus 
ter  before— a  fellow  called  Ingles,  in  South  Africa.  He 
was  just  the  same  hard-trained,  athletic -sports  build  of 
animal.  Always  kept  himself  in  the  pink  of  condition. 
Did  n't  do  him  much  good,  though.  'Shot  at  Wessel- 
stroom  the  week  before  Majuba.  Wonder  how  the 
young  un  will  lick  his  detachment  into  shape." 

Cottar  turned  up  six  weeks  later,  on  foot,  with  his 
pupils.  He  never  told  his  experiences,  but  the  men 
spoke  enthusiastically,  and  fragments  of  it  leaked  back 
to  the  colonel  through  sergeants,  batmen,  and  the  like. 

There  was  great  jealousy  between  the  first  and  second 
detachments,  but  the  men  united  in  adoring  Cottar,  and 
their  way  of  showing  it  was  by  sparing  him  all  the 
trouble  that  men  know  how  to  make  for  an  unloved 
officer.  He  sought  popularity  as  little  as  he  had  sought 
it  at  school,  and  therefore  it  came  to  him.  He  favoured 
no  one— not  even  when  the  company  sloven  pulled  the 
company  cricket-match  out  of  the  fire  with  an  unex 
pected  forty- three  at  the  last  moment.  There  was  very 
little  getting  round  him,  for  he  seemed  to  know  by 
instinct  exactly  when  and  where  to  head  off  a  malin 
gerer  ;  but  he  did  not  forget  that  the  difference  between 
a  dazed  and  sulky  junior  of  the  upper  school  and  a  be 
wildered,  browbeaten  lump  of  a  private  fresh  from  the 
depot  was  very  small  indeed.  The  sergeants,  seeing 
these  things,  told  him  secrets  generally  hid  from  young 
officers.  His  words  were  quoted  as  barrack  authority 
[396] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

on  bets  in  canteen  and  at  tea;  and  the  veriest  shrew  of 
the  corps,  bursting  with  charges  against  other  women 
who  had  used  the  cooking-ranges  out  of  turn,  forbore 
to  speak  when  Cottar,  as  the  regulations  ordained, 
asked  of  a  morning  if  there  were  "  any  complaints." 

"  I  'm  full  o'  complaints,"  said  Mrs.  Corporal  Mor 
rison,  "  an'  I  'd  kill  O'Halloran's  fat  sow  of  a  wife  any 
day,  but  ye  know  how  it  is.  'E  puts  'is  head  just  inside 
the  door,  an'  looks  down  'is  blessed  nose  so  bashful, 
an'  'e  whispers,  'Any  complaints? '  Ye  can't  complain 
after  that.  I  want  to  kiss  him.  Some  day  I  think  I 
will.  Heigh-ho!  she  '11  be  a  lucky  woman  that  gets 
Young  Innocence.  See  'im  now,  girls.  Do  ye  blame 
me?" 

Cottar  was  cantering  across  to  polo,  and  he  looked  a 
very  satisfactory  figure  of  a  man  as  he  gave  easily  to 
the  first  excited  bucks  of  his  pony,  and  slipped  over  a 
low  mud  wall  to  the  practice-ground.  There  were 
more  than  Mrs.  Corporal  Morrison  who  felt  as  she  did. 
But  Cottar  was  busy  for  eleven  hours  of  the  day.  He 
did  not  care  to  have  his  tennis  spoiled  by  petticoats  in 
the  court;  and  after  one  long  afternoon  at  a  garden- 
party,  he  explained  to  his  major  that  this  sort  of  thing 
was  "  futile  piffle,"  and  the  major  laughed.  Theirs 
was  not  a  married  mess,  except  for  the  colonel's  wife, 
and  Cottar  stood  in  awe  of  the  good  lady.  She  said 
* '  my  regiment, ' '  and  the  world  knows  what  that  means. 
None  the  less,  when  they  wanted  her  to  give  away  the 
prizes  after  a  shooting-match,  and  she  refused  because 
one  of  the  prize-winners  was  married  to  a  girl  who  had 
made  a  jest  of  her  behind  her  broad  back,  the  mess 
[397] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

ordered  Cottar  to  u  tackle  her,"  in  his  best  calling-kit. 
This  he  did,  simply  and  laboriously,  and  she  gave  way 
altogether. 

"  She  only  wanted  to  know  the  facts  of  the  case,"  he 
explained.  ' '  I  just  told  her,  and  she  saw  at  once. ' ' 

"  Ye-es,"  said  the  adjutant.  "  I  expect  that  's  what 
she  did.  Coinin'  to  the  Fusiliers'  dance  to-night,  Gala 
had?" 

u  No,  thanks.  I  Ve  got  a  fight  on  with  the  major." 
The  virtuous  apprentice  sat  up  till  midnight  in  the 
major's  quarters,  with  a  stop-watch  and  a  pair  of  com 
passes,  shifting  little  painted  lead-blocks  about  a  four- 
inch  map. 

Then  he  turned  in  and  slept  the  sleep  of  innocence, 
which  is  full  of  healthy  dreams.  One  peculiarity  of  his 
dreams  he  noticed  at  the  beginning  of  his  second  hot 
weather.  Two  or  three  times  a  month  they  duplicated 
or  ran  in  series.  He  would  find  himself  sliding  into 
dreamland  by  the  same  road— a  road  that  ran  along  a 
beach  near  a  pile  of  brushwood.  To  the  right  lay  the 
sea,  sometimes  at  full  tide,  sometimes  withdrawn  to  the 
very  horizon;  but  he  knew  it  for  the  same  sea.  By 
that  road  he  would  travel  over  a  swell  of  rising  ground 
covered  with  short,  withered  grass,  into  valleys  of  won 
der  and  unreason.  Beyond  the  ridge,  which  was 
crowned  with  some  sort  of  street-lamp,  anything  was 
possible;  but  up  to  the  lamp  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
knew  the  road  as  well  as  he  knew  the  parade-ground 
He  learned  to  look  forward  to  the  place ;  for,  once  there, 
he  was  sure  of  a  good  night's  rest,  and  Indian  hot 
weather  can  be  rather  trying.  First,  shadowy  under 
[398] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

closing  eyelids,  would  come  the  outline  of  the  brush 
wood-pile  ,  next  the  white  sand  of  the  beach-road,  almost 
overhanging  the  black,  changeful  sea ;  then  the  turn  in 
land  and  uphill  to  the  single  light.  When  he  was  unrest- 
f ul  for  any  reason,  he  would  tell  himself  how  he  was  sure 
to  get  there— sure  to  get  there— if  he  shut  his  eyes  and 
surrendered  to  the  drift  of  things.  But  one  night  after 
a  foolishly  hard  hour's  polo  (the  thermometer  was  94° 
in  his  quarters  at  ten  o'clock),  sleep  stood  away  from 
him  altogether,  though  he  did  his  best  to  find  the  well- 
known  road,  the  point  where  true  sleep  began.  At  last 
he  saw  the  brushwood-pile,  and  hurried  along  to  the 
ridge,  for  behind  him  he  felt  was  the  wide-awake,  sul 
try  world.  He  reached  the  lamp  in  safety,  tingling 
with  drowsiness,  when  a  policeman— a  common  coun 
try  policeman— sprang  up  before  him  and  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder  ere  he  could  dive  into  the  dim  valley 
below.  He  was  filled  with  terror,— the  hopeless  terror 
of  dreams,— for  the  policeman  said,  in  the  awful,  dis 
tinct  voice  of  dream-people,  ' '  I  am  Policeman  Day 
coming  back  from  the  City  of  Sleep.  You  come  with 
me. ' '  Georgie  knew  it  was  true— that  just  beyond  him 
in  the  valley  lay  the  lights  of  the  City  of  Sleep,  where 
he  would  have  been  sheltered,  and  that  this  Police 
man-Thing  had  full  power  and  authority  to  head  him 
back  to  miserable  wakefulness.  He  found  himself 
looking  at  the  moonlight  on  the  wall,  dripping  with 
fright;  and  he  never  overcame  that  horror,  though  he 
met  the  Policeman  several  times  that  hot  weather,  and 
his  coming  was  the  forerunner  of  a  bad  night. 
But  other  dreams— perfectly  absurd  ones— filled  him 
[399] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

with  an  incommunicable  delight.  All  those  that  he 
remembered  began  by  the  brushwood-pile.  For  in 
stance,  he  found  a  small  clockwork  steamer  (he  had 
noticed  it  many  nights  before)  lying  by  the  sea-road, 
and  stepped  into  it,  whereupon  it  moved  with  surpass 
ing  swiftness  over  an  absolutely  level  sea.  This  was 
glorious,  for  he  felt  he  was  exploring  great  matters ;  and 
it  stopped  by  a  lily  carved  in  stone,  which,  most  natu 
rally,  floated  on  the  water.  Seeing  the  lily  was  labelled 
"  Hong- Kong,"  Georgie  said:  "  Of  course.  This  is  pre 
cisely  what  I  expected  Hong-Kong  would  be  like.  How 
magnificent !  v  Thousands  of  miles  farther  on  it  halted 
at  yet  another  stone  lily,  labelled  "Java";  and  this, 
again,  delighted  him  hugely,  because  he  knew  that  now 
he  was  at  the  world's  end.  But  the  little  boat  ran  on 
and  on  till  it  lay  in  a  deep  fresh- water  lock,  the  sides  of 
which  were  carven  marble,  green  with  moss.  Lily-pads 
lay  on  the  water,  and  reeds  arched  above.  Some  one 
moved  among  the  reeds— some  one  whom  Georgie  knew 
he  had  travelled  to  this  world's  end  to  reach.  There 
fore  everything  was  entirely  well  with  him.  He  was 
unspeakably  happy,  and  vaulted  over  the  ship's  side  to 
find  this  person .  When  his  feet  touched  that  still  water, 
it  changed,  with  the  rustle  of  unrolling  maps,  to  nothing 
less  than  a  sixth  quarter  of  the  globe,  beyond  the  most 
remote  imagining  of  man— a  place  where  islands  were 
coloured  yellow  and  blue,  their  lettering  strung  across 
their  faces.  They  gave  on  unknown  seas,  and  Georgie's 
urgent  desire  was  to  return  swiftly  across  this  floating 
atlas  to  known  bearings.  He  told  himself  repeatedly 
that  it  was  no  good  to  hurry ;  but  still  he  hurried  des- 
[400] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

perately,  and  the  islands  slipped  and  slid  under  his  feet, 
the  straits  yawned  and  widened,  till  he  found  himself 
utterly  lost  in  the  world's  fourth  dimension,  with  no 
hope  of  return.  Yet  only  a  little  distance  away  he 
could  see  the  old  world  with  the  rivers  and  mountain- 
chains  marked  according  to  the  Sandhurst  rules  of 
map-making.  Then  that  person  for  whom  he  had  come 
to  the  Lily  Lock  (that  was  its  name)  ran  up  across  un 
explored  territories,  and  showed  him  a  way.  They  fled 
hand  in  hand  till  they  reached  a  road  that  spanned 
ravines,  and  ran  along  the  edge  of  precipices,  and  was 
tunnelled  through  mountains.  "  This  goes  to  our 
brushwood-pile, ' '  said  his  companion ;  and  all  his  trouble 
was  at  an  end.  He  took  a  pony,  because  he  understood 
that  this  was  the  Thirty-Mile  Eide  and  he  must  ride 
swiftly,  and  raced  through  the  clattering  tunnels  and 
round  the  curves,  always  downhill,  till  he  heard  the 
sea  to  his  left,  and  saw  it  raging  under  a  full  moon, 
against  sandy  cliffs.  It  was  heavy  going,  but  he  recog. 
nised  the  nature  of  the  country,  the  dark -purple  downs 
inland,  and  the  bents  that  whistled  in  the  wind.  The 
road  was  eaten  away  in  places,  and  the  sea  lashed  at 
hun— black,  foamless  tongues  of  smooth  and  glossy 
rollers ;  but  he  was  sure  that  there  was  less  danger  from 
the  sea  than  from  "Them,"  whoever  "They"  were, 
inland  to  his  right.  He  knew,  too,  that  he  would  be 
safe  if  he  could  reach  the  down  with  the  lamp  on  it. 
This  came  as  he  expected :  he  saw  the  one  light  a  mile 
ahead  along  the  beach,  dismounted,  turned  to  the  right, 
walked  quietly  over  to  the  brushwood-pile,  found  the 
little  steamer  had  returned  to  the  beach  whence  he  had 
[401] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

unmoored  it,  and— must  have  fallen  asleep,  for  he  could 
remember  no  more.  "  I  'm  gettin'  the  hang  of  the  geog 
raphy  of  that  place,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  shaved 
next  morning.  "  I  must  have  made  some  sort  of  circle. 
Let  's  see.  The  Thirty-Mile  Eide  (now  how  the  deuce 
did  I  know  it  was  called  the  Thirty-Mile  Ride?)  joins 
the  sea-road  beyond  the  first  down  where  the  lamp  is. 
And  that  atlas-country  lies  at  the  back  of  the  Thirty- 
Mile  Ride,  somewhere  out  to  the  right  beyond  the  hills 
and  tunnels.  Rummy  things,  dreams.  'Wonder  what 
makes  mine  fit  into  each  other  so? " 

He  continued  on  his  solid  way  through  the  recurring 
duties  of  the  seasons.  The  regiment  was  shifted  to 
another  station,  and  he  enjoyed  road-marching  for  two 
months,  with  a  good  deal  of  mixed  shooting  thrown  in, 
and  when  they  reached  their  new  cantonments  he 
became  a  member  of  the  local  Tent  Club,  and  chased 
the  mighty  boar  on  horseback  with  a  short  stabbing- 
spear.  There  he  met  the  mahseer  of  the  Poonch,  beside 
whom  the  tarpon  is  as  a  herring,  and  he  who  lands  him 
can  say  that  he  is  a  fisherman.  This  was  as  new  and  as 
fascinating  as  the  big-game  shooting  that  fell  to  his 
portion,  when  he  had  himself  photographed  for  the 
mother's  benefit,  sitting  on  the  flank  of  his  first  tiger. 

Then  the  adjutant  was  promoted,  and  Cottar  rejoiced 
with  him,  for  he  admired  the  adjutant  greatly,  and 
marvelled  who  might  be  big  enough  to  fill  his  place ;  so 
that  he  nearly  collapsed  when  the  mantle  fell  on  his 
own  shoulders,  and  the  colonel  said  a  few  sweet  things 
that  made  him  blush.  An  adjutant's  position  does  not 
differ  materially  from  that  of  head  of  the  school,  and 
[402] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

Cottar  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  the  colonel  as  he 
had  to  his  old  Head  in  England.  Only,  tempers  wear 
out  in  hot  weather,  and  things  were  said  and  done  that 
tried  him  sorely,  and  he  made  glorious  blunders,  from 
which  the  regimental  sergeant-major  pulled  him  with 
a  loyal  soul  and  a  shut  mouth.  Slovens  and  incompe 
tents  raged  against  him;  the  weak-minded  strove  to 
lure  him  from  the  ways  of  justice;  the  small-minded— 
yea,  men  whom  Cottar  believed  would  never  do  ' '  things 
no  fellow  can  do  "—imputed  motives  mean  and  circuit 
ous  to  actions  that  he  had  not  spent  a  thought  upon ; 
and  he  tasted  injustice,  and  it  made  him  very  sick.  But 
his  consolation  came  on  parade,  when  he  looked  down 
the  full  companies,  and  reflected  how  few  were  in  hos 
pital  or  cells,  and  wondered  when  the  time  would  come 
to  try  the  machine  of  his  love  and  labour. 

But  they  needed  and  expected  the  whole  of  a  man's 
working-day,  and  maybe  three  or  four  hours  of  the 
night.  Curiously  enough,  he  never  dreamed  about  the 
regiment  as  he  was  popularly  supposed  to.  The  mind, 
set  free  from  the  day's  doings,  generally  ceased  work 
ing  altogether,  or,  if  it  moved  at  all,  carried  him  along 
the  old  beach-road  to  the  downs,  the  lamp-post,  and, 
once  in  a  while,  to  terrible  Policeman  Day.  The  second 
time  that  he  returned  to  the  world's  lost  continent  (this 
was  a  dream  that  repeated  itself  again  and  again,  with 
variations,  on  the  same  ground)  he  knew  that  if  he  only 
sat  still  the  person  from  the  Lily  Lock  would  help  him, 
and  he  was  not  disappointed.  Sometimes  he  was 
trapped  in  mines  of  vast  depth  hollowed  out  of  the  heart 
of  the  world,  where  men  in  torment  chanted  echoing 
[403] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

songs ;  and  he  heard  this  person  coming  along  through 
the  galleries,  and  everything  was  made  safe  and  delight 
ful.  They  met  again  in  low-roofed  Indian  railway-car 
riages  that  halted  in  a  garden  surrounded  by  gilt-and- 
green  railings,  where  a  mob  of  stony  white  people,  all 
unfriendly,  sat  at  breakfast-tables  covered  with  roses, 
and  separated  Georgie  from  his  companion,  while 
underground  voices  sang  deep-voiced  songs.  Georgie 
was  filled  with  enormous  despair  till  they  two  met  again. 
They  foregathered  in  the  middle  of  an  endless,  hot 
tropic  night,  and  crept  into  a  huge  house  that  stood,  he 
knew,  somewhere  north  of  the  railway- station  where 
the  people  ate  among  the  roses.  It  was  surrounded 
with  gardens,  all  moist  and  dripping;  and  in  one  room, 
reached  through  leagues  of  whitewashed  passages,  a 
Sick  Thing  lay  in  bed.  Now  the  least  noise,  Georgie 
knew,  would  unchain  some  waiting  horror,  and  his  com 
panion  knew  it,  too ;  but  when  their  eyes  met  across  the 
bed,  Georgie  was  disgusted  to  see  that  she  was  a  child 
—a  little  girl  in  strapped  shoes,  with  her  black  hair 
combed  back  from  her  forehead. 

"  What  disgraceful  folly !  "  he  thought.  "  Now  she 
could  do  nothing  whatever  if  Its  head  came  off. ' ' 

Then  the  Thing  coughed,  and  the  ceiling  shattered 
down  in  plaster  on  the  mosquito-netting,  and  ' '  They ' ' 
rushed  in  from  all  quarters.  He  dragged  the  child 
through  the  stifling  garden,  voices  chanting  behind 
them,  and  they  rode  the  Thirty-Mile  Ride  under  whip 
and  spur  along  the  sandy  beach  by  the  booming  sea,  till 
they  came  to  the  downs,  the  lamp-post,  and  the  brush 
wood-pile,  which  was  safety.  Very  often  dreams  would 
[404] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

break  up  about  them  in  this  fashion,  and  they  would 
be  separated,  to  endure  awful  adventures  alone.  But 
the  most  amusing  times  were  when  he  and  she  had  a 
clear  understanding  that  it  was  all  make-believe,  and 
walked  through  mile-wide  roaring  rivers  without  even 
taking  off  their  shoes,  or  set  light  to  populous  cities  to 
see  how  they  would  burn,  and  were  rude  as  any  chil 
dren  to  the  vague  shadows  met  in  their  rambles.  Later 
in  the  night  they  were  sure  to  suffer  for  this,  either  at  the 
hands  of  the  Railway  People  eating  among  the  roses, 
or  in  the  tropic  uplands  at  the  far  end  of  the  Thirty-Mile 
Ride.  Together,  this  did  no  much  affright  them;  but 
often  Georgie  would  hear  her  shrill  cry  of  ' '  Boy !  Boy ! ' ' 
half  a  world  away,  and  hurry  to  her  rescue  before 
u  They  "  maltreated  her. 

He  and  she  explored  the  dark-purple  downs  as  far 
inland  from  the  brushwood-pile  as  they  dared,  but  that 
was  always  a  dangerous  matter.  The  interior  was  filled 
with  "  Them,"  and  "  They  "  went  about  singing  in  the 
hollows,  and  Georgie  and  she  felt  safer  on  or  near  the 
seaboard.  So  thoroughly  had  he  come  to  know  the 
place  of  his  dreams  that  even  waking  he  accepted  it  as  a 
real  country,  and  made  a  rough  sketch  of  it.  He  kept 
his  own  counsel,  of  course;  but  the  permanence  of  the 
land  puzzled  him.  His  ordinary  dreams  were  as  form 
less  and  as  fleeting  as  any  healthy  dreams  could  be,  but 
once  at  the  brushwood- pile  he  moved  within  known 
limits  and  could  see  where  he  was  going.  There  were 
months  at  a  time  when  nothing  notable  crossed  his  sleep. 
Then  the  dreams  would  come  in  a  batch  of  five  or  six, 
and  next  morning  the  map  that  he  kept  in  his  writing- 
[405] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

case  would  be  written  up  to  date,  for  Georgie  was  a 
most  methodical  person.  There  was,  indeed,  a  danger 
—his  seniors  said  so— of  his  developing  into  a  regular 
"Auntie  Fuss"  of  an  adjutant,  and  when  an  officer 

N 


once  takes  to  old-maidism  there  is  more  hope  for  the 
virgin  of  seventy  than  for  him. 

But  fate  sent  the  change  that  was  needed,  in  the 
shape  of  a  little  winter  campaign  on  the  Border,  which, 
after  the  manner  of  little  campaigns,  flashed  out  into  a 
very  ugly  war;  and  Cottar's  regiment  was  chosen 
among  the  first. 

"Now,"  said  a  major,  "this  '11  shake  the  cobwebs 
[406] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

out  of  us  all— especially  you,  Galahad;  and  we  can  see 
what  your  hen-with-one-chick  attitude  has  done  for  the 
regiment." 

Cottar  nearly  wept  with  joy  as  the  campaign  went 
forward.  They  were  fit— physically  fit  beyond  the  other 
troops;  they  were  good  children  in  camp,  wet  or  dry, 
fed  or  unfed ;  and  they  followed  their  officers  with  the 
quick  suppleness  and  trained  obedience  of  a  first-class 
foot-ball  fifteen.  They  were  cut  off  from  their  apology 
for  a  base,  and  cheerfully  cut  their  way  back  to  it  again ; 
they  crowned  and  cleaned  out  hills  full  of  the  enemy 
with  the  precision  of  well-broken  dogs  of  chase ;  and  in 
the  hour  of  retreat,  when,  hampered  with  the  sick  and 
wounded  of  the  column,  they  were  persecuted  down 
eleven  miles  of  waterless  valley,  they,  serving  as  rear 
guard,  covered  themselves  with  a  great  glory  in  the 
eyes  of  fellow-professionals.  Any  regiment  can  advance, 
but  few  know  how  to  retreat  with  a  sting  in  the  tail. 
Then  they  turned  to  made  roads,  most  often  under  fire, 
and  dismantled  some  inconvenient  mud  redoubts. 
They  were  the  last  corps  to  be  withdrawn  when  the 
rubbish  of  the  campaign  was  all  swept  up ;  and  after  a 
month  in  standing  camp,  which  tries  morals  severely, 
they  departed  to  their  own  place  in  column  of  fours, 
singing: 

"  'E  's  goin'  to  do  without  'em — 

Don't  want  'em  any  more ; 
'E  's  goin'  to  do  without  'em, 

As  'e  's  often  done  before. 
'E  's  goin'  to  be  a  martyr 
On  a  'ighly  novel  plan, 

[407] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

An'  all  the  boys  and  girls  will  say, 
'Ow!  what  a  nice  young  man — man — man! 
Ow!  what  a  nice  young  man!  '  " 

There  came  out  a  ' '  Gazette ' '  in  which  Cottar  found 
that  he  had  been  behaving  with  ' '  courage  and  coolness 
and  discretion ' '  in  all  his  capacities ;  that  he  had  as 
sisted  the  wounded  under  fire,  and  blown  in  a  gate,  also 
under  fire.  Net  result,  his  captaincy  and  a  brevet  ma 
jority,  coupled  with  the  Distinguished  Service  Order. 

As  to  his  wounded,  he  explained  that  they  were  both 
heavy  men,  whom  he  could  lift  more  easily  than  any 
one  else.  "  Otherwise,  of  course,  I  should  have  sent 
out  one  of  my  men ;  and,  of  course,  about  that  gate 
business,  we  were  safe  the  minute  we  were  well  under 
the  walls."  But  this  did  not  prevent  his  men  from 
cheering  him  furiously  whenever  they  saw  him,  or  the 
mess  from  giving  him  a  dinner  on  the  eve  of  his 
departure  to  England.  (A  year's  leave  was  among  the 
things  he  had  ' '  snaffled  out  of  the  campaign, ' x  to  use  his 
own  words.)  The  doctor,  who  had  taken  quite  as  much 
as  was  good  for  him,  quoted  poetry  about ' '  a  good  blade 
carving  the  casques  of  men,"  and  so  on,  and  everybody 
told  Cottar  that  he  was  an  excellent  person ;  but  when 
he  rose  to  make  his  maiden  speech  they  shouted  so  that 
he  was  understood  to  say,  "It  is  n't  any  use  try  in'  to 
speak  with  you  chaps  rottin'  me  like  this.  Let  's  have 
some  pool." 

********** 

It  is  not  unpleasant  to  spend  eight-and-twenty  days 
in  an  easy-going  steamer  on  warm  waters,  in  the  com 
pany  of  a  woman  who  lets  you  see  that  you  are  head 
[408] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

and  shoulders  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  even 
though  that  woman  may  be,  and  most  often  is,  ten 
counted  years  your  senior.  P.  O.  boats  are  not  lighted 
with  the  disgustful  particularity  of  Atlantic  liners. 
There  is  more  phosphorescence  at  the  bows,  and  greater 
silence  and  darkness  by  the  hand-steering  gear  aft. 

Awful  things  might  have  happened  to  Georgie  but  for 
the  little  fact  that  he  had  never  studied  the  first  prin 
ciples  of  the  game  he  was  expected  to  play.  So  when 
Mrs.  Zuleika,  at  Aden,  told  him  how  motherly  an  inter 
est  she  felt  in  his  welfare,  medals,  brevet,  and  all, 
Georgie  took  her  at  the  foot  of  the  letter,  and  promptly 
talked  of  his  own  mother,  three  hundred  miles  nearer 
each  day,  of  his  home,  and  so  forth,  all  the  way  up  the 
Red  Sea.  It  was  much  easier  than  he  had  supposed  to 
converse  with  a  woman  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Then  Mrs. 
Zuleika,  turning  from  parental  affection,  spoke  of  love 
in  the  abstract  as  a  thing  not  unworthy  of  study,  and 
in  discreet  twilights  after  dinner  demanded  confidences. 
Georgie  would  have  been  delighted  to  supply  them,  but 
he  had  none,  and  did  not  know  it  was  his  duty  to  manu 
facture  them.  Mrs.  Zuleika  expressed  surprise  and 
unbelief,  and  asked  those  questions  which  deep  asks  of 
deep.  She  learned  all  that  was  necessary  to  conviction, 
and,  being  very  much  a  woman,  resumed  (Georgie 
never  knew  that  she  had  abandoned)  the  motherly  at 
titude. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  somewhere  in  the  Medi 
terranean,  "I  think  you  're  the  very  dearest  boy  I 
have  ever  met  in  my  life,  and  I  'd  like  you  to  remem 
ber  me  a  little.  You  will  when  you  are  older,  but  I 
[409] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

want  you  to  remember  me  now.  You  '11  make  some 
girl  very  happy." 

u  Oh!  Hope  so,"  said  Georgie,  gravely;  "  but  there's 
heaps  of  time  for  marryin'  an'  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
ain't  there?" 

"  That  depends.  Here  are  your  bean-bags  for  the 
Ladies'  Competition.  I  think  I  'm  growing  too  old  to 
care  for  these  tamashas." 

They  were  getting  up  sports,  and  Georgie  was  on  the 
committee.  He  never  noticed  how  perfectly  the  bags 
were  sewn,  but  another  woman  did,  and  smiled— once. 
He  liked  Mrs.  Zuleika  greatly.  She  was  a  bit  old,  of 
course,  but  uncommonly  nice.  There  was  no  nonsense 
about  her. 

A  few  nights  after  they  passed  Gibraltar  his  dream 
returned  to  him.  She  who  waited  by  the  brushwood- 
pile  was  no  longer  a  little  girl,  but  a  woman  with  black 
hair  that  grew  into  a  "  widow's  peak,"  combed  back 
from  her  forehead.  He  knew  her  for  the  child  in  black, 
the  companion  of  the  last  six  years,  and,  as  it  had  been 
in  the  tune  of  the  meetings  on  the  Lost  Continent,  he 
was  filled  with  delight  unspeakable.  ' '  They, ' '  for  some 
dreamland  reason,  were  friendly  or  had  gone  away  that 
night,  and  the  two  flitted  together  over  all  their  coun 
try,  from  the  brushwood-pile  up  the  Thirty-Mile  Eide, 
till  they  saw  the  House  of  the  Sick  Thing,  a  pin-point 
in  the  distance  to  the  left ;  stamped  through  the  Railway 
Waiting-room  where  the  roses  lay  on  the  spread  break 
fast-tables  ;  and  returned,  by  the  ford  and  the  city  they 
had  once  burned  for  sport,  to  the  great  swells  of  the 
downs  under  the  lamp-post.  Wherever  they  moved  a 
[410] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

strong  singing  followed  them  underground,  but  this 
night  there  was  no  panic.  All  the  land  was  empty 
except  for  themselves,  and  at  the  last  (they  were  sit 
ting  by  the  lamp-post  hand  in  hand)  she  turned  and 
kissed  him.  He  woke  with  a  start,  staring  at  the 
waving  curtain  of  the  cabin  door;  he  could  almost 
have  sworn  that  the  kiss  was  real. 

Next  morning  the  ship  was  rolling  in  a  Biscay  sea, 
and  people  were  not  happy;  but  as  Georgie  came  to 
breakfast,  shaven,  tubbed,  and  smelling  of  soap,  several 
turned  to  look  at  him  because  of  the  light  in  his  eyes 
and  the  splendour  of  his  countenance. 

"  Well,  you  look  beastly  fit,''  snapped  a  neighbour. 
"  Any  one  left  you  a  legacy  in  the  middle  of  the  Bay? " 

Georgie  reached  for  the  curry,  with  a  seraphic  grin. 
"  I  suppose  it  's  the  gettin'  so  near  home,  and  all  that. 
I  do  feel  rather  festive  this  mornin'.  'Rolls  a  bit, 
does  n't  she?" 

Mrs.  Zuleika  stayed  in  her  cabin  till  the  end  of  the 
voyage,  when  she  left  without  bidding  him  farewell, 
and  wept  passionately  on  the  dock-head  for  pure  joy  of 
meeting  her  children,  who,  she  had  often  said,  were  so 
like  their  father. 

Georgie  headed  for  his  own  country,  wild  with  delight 
of  his  first  long  furlough  after  the  lean  seasons.  Nothing 
was  changed  in  that  orderly  life,  from  the  coachman 
who  met  him  at  the  station  to  the  white  peacock  that 
stormed  at  the  carriage  from  the  stone  wall  above  the 
shaven  lawns.  The  house  took  toll  of  him  with  due 
regard  to  precedence— first  the  mother;  then  the  father; 
then  the  housekeeper,  who  wept  and  praised  God ;  then 
[411] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

the  butler,  and  so  on  down  to  the  under-keeper,  who 
had  been  dog-boy  in  Georgie 's  youth,  and  called  him 
"  Master  Georgie,"  and  was  reproved  by  the  groom  who 
had  taught  Georgie  to  ride. 

"  Not  a  thing  changed,"  he  sighed  contentedly,  when 
the  three  of  them  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  late  sun 
light,  while  the  rabbits  crept  out  upon  the  lawn  below 
the  cedars,  and  the  big  trout  in  the  ponds  by  the  home 
paddock  rose  for  their  evening  meal. 

"  Our  changes  are  all  over,  dear,"  cooed  the  mother; 
"  and  now  I  am  getting  used  to  your  size  and  your  tan 
(you  're  very  brown,  Georgie),  I  see  you  have  n't 
changed  in  the  least.  You  're  exactly  like  the  pater." 

The  father  beamed  on  this  man  after  his  own  heart, 
— "  youngest  major  in  the  army,  and  should  have  had 
the  V.  C.,  sir,"— and  the  butler  listened  with  his  pro 
fessional  mask  off  when  Master  Georgie  spoke  of  war  as 
it  is  waged  to-day,  and  his  father  cross-questioned. 

They  went  out  on  the  terrace  to  smoke  among  the 
roses,  and  the  shadow  of  the  old  house  lay  long  across 
the  wonderful  English  foliage,  which  is  the  only  living 
green  in  the  world. 

"  Perfect!  By  Jove,  it  's  perfect!"  Georgie  was 
looking  at  the  round-bosomed  woods  beyond  the  home 
paddock,  where  the  white  pheasant  boxes  were  ranged; 
and  the  golden  air  was  full  of  a  hundred  sacred  scents 
and  sounds.  Georgie  felt  his  father's  arm  tighten  in 
his. 

"It  's  not  half  bad— but  hodie  mihi,  eras  tibi,  is  n't 
it?    I  suppose  you  '11  be  turning  up  some  fine  day  with 
a  girl  under  your  arm,  if  you  have  n't  one  now,  eh? " 
[412] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

'  *  You  can  make  your  mind  easy,  sir.    I  have  n't  one. ' ' 

"  Not  in  all  these  years? "  said  the  mother. 

"  I  had  n't  time,  mummy.  They  keep  a  man  pretty 
busy,  these  days,  in  the  service,  and  most  of  our  mess 
are  unmarried,  too." 

u  But  you  must  have  met  hundreds  in  society— at 
balls,  and  so  on?" 

"  I  'm  like  the  Tenth,  mummy:   I  don't  dance." 

"Don't  dance!  What  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself,  then— backing  other  men's  bills?"  said  the 
father. 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  've  done  a  little  of  that  too;  but  you  see, 
as  things  are  now,  a  man  has  all  his  work  cut  out  for 
him  to  keep  abreast  of  his  profession,  and  my  days 
were  always  too  full  to  let  me  lark  about  half  the 
night." 

"  Hmm!  "—suspiciously. 

"  It 's  never  too  late  to  learn.  We  ought  to  give  some 
kind  of  housewarming  for  the  people  about,  now  you  ' ve 
come  back.  Unless  you  want  to  go  straight  up  to  town, 
dear?" 

' '  No.  I  don't  want  anything  better  than  this.  Let  's 
sit  still  and  enjoy  ourselves.  I  suppose  there  will  be 
something  for  me  to  ride  if  I  look  for  it?  " 

' l  Seeing  I '  ve  been  kept  down  to  the  old  brown  pair 
for  the  last  six  weeks  because  all  the  others  were  being 
got  ready  for  Master  Georgie,  I  should  say  there  might 
be,"  the  father  chuckled.  "  They  're  reminding  me  in 
a  hundred  ways  that  I  must  take  the  second  place 
now." 

"Brutes!" 

[413] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  The  pater  does  n't  mean  it,  dear;  but  every  one  has 
been  trying  to  make  your  home-coming  a  success;  and 
you  do  like  it,  don't  you?  " 

"  Perfect!  Perfect!  There  's  no  place  like  England 
—when  you  've  done  your  work." 

"  That  's  the  proper  way  to  look  at  it,  my  son." 

And  so  up  and  down  the  nagged  walk  till  their  shad 
ows  grew  long  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  mother  went 
indoors  and  played  such  songs  as  a  small  boy  once 
clamoured  for,  and  the  squat  silver  candlesticks  were 
brought  in,  and  Georgie  climbed  to  the  two  rooms  in 
the  west  wing  that  had  been  his  nursery  and  his  play 
room  in  the  beginning.  Then  who  should  come  to  tuck 
him  up  for  the  night  but  the  mother?  And  she  sat 
down  on  the  bed,  and  they  talked  for  a  long  hour,  as 
mother  and  son  should,  if  there  is  to  be  any  future  for 
the  Empire.  With  a  simple  woman's  deep  guile  she 
asked  questions  and  suggested  answers  that  should  have 
waked  some  sign  in  the  face  on  the  pillow,  and  there 
was  neither  quiver  of  eyelid  nor  quickening  of  breath, 
neither  evasion  nor  delay  in  reply.  So  she  blessed  him 
and  kissed  him  on  the  mouth,  which  is  not  always  a 
mother's  property,  and  said  something  to  her  husband 
later,  at*  which  he  laughed  profane  and  incredulous 
laughs. 

All  the  establishment  waited  on  Georgie  next  morn 
ing,  from  the  tallest  six-year-old,  "  with  a  mouth  like 
a  kid  glove,  Master  Georgie,"  to  the  under-keeper 
strolling  carelessly  along  the  horizon,  Georgie' s  pet  rod 
in  his  hand,  and  "  There  's  a  four-pounder  risin'  below 
the  lasher.  You  don't  ^ave  'em  in  Injia,  Mast— Major 
[414] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

Georgie."  It  was  all  beautiful  beyond  telling,  even 
though  the  mother  insisted  on  taking  him  out  in  the 
landau  (the  leather  had  the  hot  Sunday  smell  of  his 
youth)  and  showing  him  off  to  her  friends  at  all  the 
houses  for  six  miles  round ;  and  the  pater  bore  him  up 
to  town  and  a  lunch  at  the  club,  where  he  introduced 
him,  quite  carelessly,  to  not  less  than  thirty  ancient 
warriors  whose  sons  were  not  the  youngest  majors  in 
the  army  and  had  not  the  D.  S.  O.  After  that  it  was 
Georgie 's  turn;  and  remembering  his  friends,  he  filled 
up  the  house  with  that  kind  of  officer  who  live  in  cheap 
lodgings  at  Southsea  or  Montpelier  Square,  Brompton 
—good  men  all,  but  not  well  off.  The  mother  perceived 
that  they  needed  girls  to  play  with;  and  as  there  was 
no  scarcity  of  girls,  the  house  hummed  like  a  dovecote 
in  spring.  They  tore  up  the  place  for  amateur  theat 
ricals;  they  disappeared  in  the  gardens  when  they 
ought  to  have  been  rehearsing;  they  swept  off  every 
available  horse  and  vehicle,  especially  the  governess- 
cart  and  the  fat  pony;  they  fell  into  the  trout-ponds; 
they  picnicked  and  they  tennised;  and  they  sat  on 
gates  in  the  twilight,  two  by  two,  and  Georgie  found 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  necessary  to  their  enter 
tainment. 

u  My  word!  "  said  he,  when  he  saw  the  last  of  their 
dear  backs.  ' '  They  told  me  they  '  ve  enjoyed  'emselves, 
but  they  have  n't  done  half  the  things  they  said  they 
would." 

"  I  know  they  've  enjoyed  themselves— immensely," 
said  the  mother.  "  You  're  a  public  benefactor,  dear." 

"  Now  we  can  be  quiet  again,  can't  we? " 
[415] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  Oh,  quite.  I  've  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine  that  I 
want  you  to  know.  She  could  n't  come  with  the  house 
so  full,  because  she  's  an  invalid,  and  she  was  away 
when  you  first  came.  She  's  a  Mrs.  Lacy." 

"  Lacy!    I  don't  remember  the  name  about  here." 

"No;  they  came  after  you  went  to  India— from  Ox 
ford.  Her  husband  died  there,  and  she  lost  some 
money,  I  believe.  They  bought  The  Firs  on  the  Bassett 
Road.  She  's  a  very  sweet  woman,  and  we  're  very 
fond  of  them  both." 

"  She  's  a  widow,  did  n't  you  say? " 

"  She  has  a  daughter.     Surely  I  said  so,  dear? " 

"  Does  she  fall  into  trout-ponds,  and  gas  and  giggle, 
and  '  Oh,  Major  Cottah! '  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  She  's  a  very  quiet  girl,  and  very 
musical.  She  always  came  over  here  witti  her  music- 
books—composing,  you  know;  and  she  generally  works 
all  day,  so  you  won't—" 

"'Talking  about  Miriam?"  said  the  pater,  coming 
up.  The  mother  edged  toward  him  within  elbow-reach. 
There  was  no  finesse  about  Georgie's  father.  "  Oh, 
Miriam  's  a  dear  girl.  Plays  beautifully.  Rides  beau 
tifully,  too.  She  's  a  regular  pet  of  the  household. 
Used  to  call  me—"  The  elbow  went  home,  and  igno 
rant  but  obedient  always,  the  pater  shut  himself  off. 

"  What  used  she  to  call  you,  sir? " 

"  All  sorts  of  pet  names.     I  'm  very  fond  of  Miriam. ' ' 

"  Sounds  Jewish— Miriam." 

* '  Jew !  You  '11  be  calling  yourself  a  Jew  next.  She  's 
one  of  the  Herefordshire  Lacys.  When  her  aunt  dies— ' ' 
Again  the  elbow. 

[416] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  Oh,  you  won't  see  anything  of  her,  Georgie.  She 's 
busy  with  her  music  or  her  mother  all  day.  Besides, 
you  're  going  up  to  town  to-morrow,  are  n't  you?  I 
thought  you  said  something  about  an  Institute  meet 
ing?  "  The  mother  spoke. 

"  Go  up  to  town  now!  What  nonsense ! ' '  Once  more 
the  pater  was  shut  off. 

"  I  had  some  idea  of  it,  but  I  xm  not  quite  sure,"  said 
the  son  of  the  house.  Why  did  the  mother  try  to  get 
him  away  because  a  musical  girl  and  her  invalid  pa 
rent  were  expected?  He  did  not  approve  of  unknown 
females  calling  his  father  pet  names.  He  would  observe 
these  pushing  persons  who  had  been  only  seven  years 
in  the  county. 

All  of  which  the  delighted  mother  read  in  his  coun 
tenance,  herself  keeping  an  air  of  sweet  disinterested 
ness. 

"  They  '11  be  here  this  evening  for  dinner.  I  'm  send 
ing  the  carriage  over  for  them,  and  they  won't  stay 
more  than  a  week." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  go  up  to  town.  I  don't  quite  know 
yet. ' '  Georgie  moved  away  irresolutely.  There  was  a 
lecture  at  the  United  Services  Institute  on  the  supply 
of  ammunition  in  the  field,  and  the  one  man  whose 
theories  most  irritated  Major  Cottar  would  deliver  it. 
A  heated  discussion  was  sure  to  follow,  and  perhaps 
he  might  find  himself  moved  to  speak.  He  took  his  rod 
that  afternoon  and  went  down  to  thrash  it  out  among 
the  trout. 

"Good  sport,  dear!"  said  the  mother,  from  the 
terrace. 

[417] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  'Fraid  it  won't  be,  mummy.  All  those  men  from 
town,  and  the  girls  particularly,  have  put  every  trout 
off  his  feed  for  weeks.  There  is  n't  one  of  'em  that 
cares  for  fishin'— really.  Fancy  stampin'  and  shoutin' 
on  the  bank,  and  tellin'  every  fish  for  half  a  mile  exactly 
what  you  're  goin'  to  do,  and  then  chuckin'  a  brute  of 
a  fly  at  him!  By  Jove,  it  would  scare  me  if  I  was  a 
trout!" 

But  things  were  not  as  bad  as  he  had  expected.  The 
black  gnat  was  on  the  water,  and  the  water  was  strictly 
preserved.  A  three-quarter-pounder  at  the  second  cast 
set  him  for  the  campaign,  and  he  worked  down-stream, 
crouching  behind  the  reed  and  meadow-sweet;  creeping 
between  a  hornbeam  hedge  and  a  foot- wide  strip  of 
bank,  where  he  could  see  the  trout,  but  where  they 
could  not  distinguish  him  from  the  background ;  lying 
almost  on  his  stomach  to  switch  the  blue-upright  side- 
wise  through  the  checkered  shadows  of  a  gravelly  rip 
ple  under  overarching  trees.  But  he  had  known  every 
inch  of  the  water  since  he  was  four  feet  high.  The 
aged  and  astute  between  sunk  roots,  with  the  large  and 
fat  that  lay  in  the  frothy  scum  below  some  strong  rush 
of  water,  sucking  as  lazily  as  carp,  came  to  trouble  in 
their  turn,  at  the  hand  that  imitated  so  delicately  the 
flicker  and  wimple  of  an  egg-dropping  fly.  Conse 
quently,  Georgie  found  himself  five  miles  from  home 
when  he  ought  to  have  been  dressing  for  dinner.  The 
housekeeper  had  taken  good  care  that  her  boy  should 
not  go  empty,  and  before  he  changed  to  the  white  moth 
he  sat  down  to  excellent  claret  with  sandwiches  of 
potted  egg  and  things  that  adoring  women  make  and 
[418] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

men  never  notice.  Then  back,  to  surprise  the  otter 
grubbing  for  fresh- water  mussels,  the  rabbits  on  the 
edge  of  the  beechwoods  foraging  in  the  clover,  and  the 
policeman-like  white  owl  stooping  to  the  little  field- 
mice,  till  the  moon  was  strong,  and  he  took  his  rod 
apart,  and  went  home  through  well-remembered  gaps  in 
the  hedges.  He  fetched  a  compass  round  the  house,  for, 
though  he  might  have  broken  every  law  of  the  estab 
lishment  every  hour,  the  law  of  his  boyhood  was  un 
breakable  :  after  fishing  you  went  in  by  the  south  garden 
back-door,  cleaned  up  in  the  outer  scullery,  and  did 
not  present  yourself  to  your  elders  and  your  betters  till 
you  had  washed  and  changed. 

"  Half -past  ten,  by  Jove!  Well,  we  '11  make  the  sport 
an  excuse.  They  would  n't  want  to  see  me  the  first  even 
ing,  at  any  rate.  Gone  to  bed,  probably."  He  skirted 
by  the  open  French  windows  of  the  drawing-room. 
"  No,  they  have  n't.  They  look  very  comfy  in  there." 

He  could  see  his  father  in  his  own  particular  chair, 
the  mother  in  hers,  and  the  back  of  a  girl  at  the  piano 
by  the  big  potpourri- jar.  The  gardens  looked  half 
divine  in  the  moonlight,  and  he  turned  down  through 
the  roses  to  finish  his  pipe. 

A  prelude  ended,  and  there  floated  out  a  voice  of  the 
kind  that  in  his  childhood  he  used  to  call  "  creamy  "  — 
a  full,  true  contralto ;  and  this  is  the  song  that  he  heard, 
every  syllable  of  it : 

Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 

Where  the  single  lamplight  gleams, 

Know  ye  the  road  to  the  Merciful  Town 
That  is  hard  by  the  Sea  of  Dreams— 

[419] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

Where  the  poor  may  lay  their  wrongs  away, 

And  the  sick  may  forget  to  weep? 
But  we— pity  us  !     Oh,  pity  us  ! 

We  wakeful ;  ah,  pity  us  !— 
We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day— 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep! 

Weary  they  turn  from  the  scroll  and  crown, 

Fetter  and  prayer  and  plough— 
They  that  go  up  to  the  Merciful  Town, 

For  her  gates  are  closing  now. 
It  is  their  right  in  the  Baths  of  Night 

Body  and  soul  to  steep : 
But  we— pity  us  !  ah,  pity  us  ! 

We  wakeful ;  oh,  pity  us  ! — 
We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day— 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep  ! 

Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 

Ere  the  tender  dreams  begin, 
Look — we  may  look — at  the  Merciful  Town, 

But  we  may  not  enter  in ! 
Outcasts  all,  from  her  guarded  wall 

Back  to  our  watch  we  creep  : 
We— pity  us  !  ah,  pity  us  ! 

We  wakeful ;  oh,  pity  us  !  — 
We  that  go  back  with  Policeman  Day— 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep  ! 

At  the  last  echo  he  was  aware  that  his  mouth  was  dry 

and  unknown  pulses  were  beating  in  the  roof  of  it.     The 

housekeeper,  who  would  have  it  that  he  must  have 

fallen  in  and  caught  a  chill,  was  waiting  to  catch  him 

[420] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

on  the  stairs,  and,  since  he  neither  saw  nor  answered 
her,  carried  a  wild  tale  abroad  that  brought  his  mother 
knocking  at  the  door. 

' '  Anything  happened,  dear?  Harper  said  she  thought 
you  were  n't—" 

"  No;  it  's  nothing.  I  'm  all  right,  mummy.  Please 
don't  bother." 

He  did  not  recognise  his  own  voice,  but  that  was  a 
small  matter  beside  what  he  was  considering.  Obvi 
ously,  most  obviously,  the  whole  coincidence  was  crazy 
lunacy.  He  proved  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  Major 
George  Cottar,  who  was  going  up  to  town  to-morrow  to 
hear  a  lecture  on  the  supply  of  ammunition  in  the  field ; 
and  having  so  proved  it,  the  soul  and  brain  and  heart 
and  body  of  Georgie  cried  joyously:  "  That  's  the  Lily 
Lock  girl— the  Lost  Continent  girl— the  Thirty-Mile 
Ride  girl— the  Brushwood  girl!  /know  her!  " 

He  waked,  stiff  and  cramped  in  his  chair,  to  recon 
sider  the  situation  by  sunlight,  when  it  did  not  appear 
normal.  But  a  man  must  eat,  and  he  went  to  break 
fast,  his  heart  between  his  teeth,  holding  himself 
severely  in  hand. 

"  Late,  as  usual,"  said  the  mother.  "  'My  boy,  Miss 
Lacy." 

A  tall  girl  in  black  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  Georgie 's 
life  training  deserted  him— just  as  soon  as  he  realised 
that  she  did  not  know.  He  stared  coolly  and  critically. 
There  was  the  abundant  black  hair,  growing  in  a 
widow's  peak,  turned  back  from  the  forehead,  with  that 
peculiar  ripple  over  the  right  ear ;  there  were  the  grey 
eyes  set  a  little  close  together ;  the  short  upper  lip,  reso- 
[421] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

lute  chin,  and  the  known  poise  of  the  head.  There  was 
also  the  small  well-cut  mouth  that  had  kissed  him. 

"  Georgie— dear! "  said  the  mother,  amazedly,  for 
Miriam  was  flushing  under  the  stare. 

"  I— I  beg  your  pardon !  "  he  gulped.  ' '  I  don't  know 
whether  the  mother  has  told  you,  but  I  'm  rather  an 
idiot  at  times,  specially  before  I  've  had  my  breakfast. 
It  's— it  's  a  family  failing." 

He  turned  to  explore  among  the  hot-water  dishes  on 
the  sideboard,  rejoicing  that  she  did  not  know— she  did 
not  know. 

His  conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  meal  was  mildly 
insane,  though  the  mother  thought  she  had  never  seen 
her  boy  look  half  so  handsome.  How  could  any  girl, 
least  of  all  one  of  Miriam's  discernment,  forbear  to  fall 
down  and  worship?  But  deeply  Miriam  was  displeased. 
She  had  never  been  stared  at  in  that  fashion  before, 
and  promptly  retired  into  her  shell  when  Georgie  an 
nounced  that  he  had  changed  his  mind  about  going  to 
town,  and  would  stay  to  play  with  Miss  Lacy  if  she  had 
nothing  better  to  do. 

"  Oh,  but  don't  let  me  throw  you  out.  I  'm  at  work. 
I  've  things  to  do  all  the  morning." 

"What  possessed  Georgie  to  behave  so  oddly?"  the 
mother  sighed  to  herself.  "  Miriam  's  a  bundle  of  feel 
ings—like  her  mother." 

"  You  compose— don't  you?  Must  be  a  fine  thing  to 
be  able  to  do  that.  ["  Pig-oh,  pig!  "  thought  Miriam.] 
I  think  I  heard  you  singin'  when  I  came  in  last  night 
after  fishin'.  All  about  a  Sea  of  Dreams,  was  n't  it? 
[Miriam  shuddered  to  the  core  of  the  soul  that  afflicted 
[422] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

her.]    Awfully  pretty  song.     How  d'  you  think  of  such 
things?" 

"  You  only  composed  the  music,  dear,  did  n't  you?  " 

"  The  words  too.  I  'm  sure  of  it, '  %  said  Georgie,  with 
a  sparkling  eye.  No ;  she  did  not  know. 

*  *  Yeth ;  I  wrote  the  words  too . ' '  Miriam  spoke  slowly, 
for  she  knew  she  lisped  when  she  was  nervous. 

"  Now  how  could  you  tell,  Georgie?  "  said  the  mother, 
as  delighted  as  though  the  youngest  major  in  the  army 
were  ten  years  old,  showing  off  before  company. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,  somehow.  Oh,  there  are  heaps  of 
things  about  me,  mummy,  that  you  don't  understand. 
Looks  as  if  it  were  goin'  to  be  a  hot  day— for  England. 
Would  you  care  for  a  ride  this  afternoon,  Miss  Lacy? 
We  can  start  out  after  tea,  if  you  'd  like  it." 

Miriam  could  not  in  decency  refuse,  but  any  woman 
might  see  she  was  not  filled  with  delight. 

"  That  will  be  very  nice,  if  you  take  the  Bassett  Eoad. 
It  will  save  me  sending  Martin  down  to  the  village," 
said  the  mother,  filling  in  gaps. 

Like  all  good  managers,  the  mother  had  her  one 
weakness— a  mania  for  little  strategics  that  should 
economise  horses  and  vehicles.  Her  men-folk  com 
plained  that  she  turned  them  into  common  carriers,  and 
there  was  a  legend  in  the  family  that  she  had  once  said 
to  the  pater  on  the  morning  of  a  meet :  "If  you  should 
kill  near  Bassett,  dear,  and  if  it  is  n't  too  late,  would 
you  mind  just  popping  over  and  matching  me  this?  " 

"  I  knew  that  was  coming.  You  'd  never  miss  a 
chance,  mother.  If  it  's  a  fish  or  a  trunk  I  won't." 
Georgie  laughed. 

[423] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  It  's  only  a  duck.  They  can  do  it  up  very  neatly  at 
Mallett's, ' '  said  the  mother,  simply.  ' '  You  won't  mind, 
will  you?  We  '11  have  a  scratch  dinner  at  nine,  because 
it  's  so  hot." 

The  long  summer  day  dragged  itself  out  for  centuries ; 
but  at  last  there  was  tea  on  the  lawn,  and  Miriam  ap 
peared. 

She  was  in  the  saddle  before  he  could  offer  to  help, 
with  the  clean  spring  of  the  child  who  mounted  the  pony 
for  the  Thirty- Mile  Ride.  The  day  held  mercilessly, 
though  Georgie  got  down  thrice  to  look  for  imaginary 
stones  in  Rufus's  foot.  One  cannot  say  even  simple 
things  in  broad  light,  and  this  that  Georgie  meditated 
was  not  simple.  So  he  spoke  seldom,  and  Miriam  was 
divided  between  relief  and  scorn.  It  annoyed  her  that 
the  great  hulking  thing  should  know  she  had  written 
the  words  of  the  song  overnight;  for  though  a  maiden 
may  sing  her  most  secret  fancies  aloud,  she  does  not 
care  to  have  them  trampled  over  by  the  male  Philistine. 
They  rode  into  the  little  red-brick  street  of  Bassett, 
and  Georgie  made  untold  fuss  over  the  disposition  of 
that  duck.  It  must  go  in  just  such  a  package,  and  be 
fastened  to  the  saddle  in  just  such  a  manner,  though 
eight  o'clock  had  struck  and  they  were  miles  from 
dinner. 

"  We  must  be  quick!  "  said  Miriam,  bored  and  angry. 

"  There  's  no  great  hurry;  but  we  can  cut  over  Dow- 
head  Down,  and  let  'em  out  on  the  grass.  That  will 
save  us  half  an  hour. ' ' 

The  horses  capered  on  the  short,  sweet- smelling  turf, 
and  the  delaying  shadows  gathered  in  the  valley  as 
[424] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

they  cantered  over  the  great  dun  down  that  overhangs 
Basset t  and  the  Western  coaching-road.  Insensibly  the 
pace  quickened  without  thought  of  mole-hills;  Rufus, 
gentleman  that  he  was,  waiting  on  Miriam's  Dandy  till 
they  should  have  cleared  the  rise.  Then  down  the 
two-mile  slope  they  raced  together,  the  wind  whistling 
in  their  ears,  to  the  steady  throb  of  eight  hoofs  and  the 
light  click-click  of  the  shifting  bits. 

"  Oh,  that  was  glorious!  "  Miriam  cried,  reining  in. 
"  Dandy  and  I  are  old  friends,  but  I  don't  think  we  've 
ever  gone  better  together. ' ' 

"  No;  but  you  've  gone  quicker,  once  or  twice." 

"Really?    When?" 

Georgie  moistened  his  lips.  "  Don't  you  remember 
the  Thirty-Mile  Ride— with  me— when  '  They '  were 
after  us— on  the  beach-road,  with  the  sea  to  the  left — 
going  toward  the  lamp-post  on  the  downs?  " 

The  girl  gasped.  "  What— what  do  you  mean? "  she 
said  hysterically. 

"  The  Thirty-Mile  Ride,  and— and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  You  mean—  ?  I  didn't  sing  anything  about  the 
Thirty-Mile  Ride.  I  know  I  did  n't.  I  have  never  told 
a  living  soul. ' ' 

"  You  told  about  Policeman  Day,  and  the  lamp  at  the 
top  of  the  downs,  and  the  City  of  Sleep.  It  all  joins  on, 
you  know— it  's  the  same  country— and  it  was  easy 
enough  to  see  where  you  had  been. ' ' 

"Good  God!— It  joins  on— of  course  it  does;  but— I 
have  been— you  have  been—  Oh,  let  's  walk,  please, 
or  I  shall  fall  off!" 

Georgie  ranged  alongside,  and  laid  a  hand  that  shook 
[425] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

below  her  bridle-hand,  pulling  Dandy  into  a  walk. 
Miriam  was  sobbing  as  he  had  seen  a  man  sob  under 
the  touch  of  the  bullet. 

"  It  's  all  right— it  's  all  right,"  he  whispered  feebly. 
"  Only— only  it  's  true,  you  know." 

"True!     Am  I  mad?" 

"  Not  unless  I  'm  mad  as  well.  Do  try  to  think  a 
minute  quietly.  How  could  any  one  conceivably  know 
anything  about  the  Thirty-Mile  Ride  having  anything 
to  do  with  you,  unless  he  had  been  there?  " 

' '  But  where ?    But  where?    Tell  me !  " 

"  There— wherever  it  may  be— in  our  country,  I  sup 
pose.  Do  you  remember  the  first  time  you  rode  it— the 
Thirty-Mile  Ride,  I  mean?  You  must." 

"  It  was  all  dreams— all  dreams!  " 

"  Yes,  but  tell,  please;  because  I  know." 

"  Let  me  think.  I— we  were  on  no  account  to  make 
any  noise— on  no  account  to  make  any  noise."  She 
was  staring  between  Dandy's  ears,  with  eyes  that  did 
not  see,  and  a  suffocating  heart. 

"  Because  '  It '  was  dying  in  the  big  house? "  Georgie 
went  on,  reining  in  again. 

"  There  was  a  garden  with  green-and-gilt  railings— 
all  hot.  Do  you  remember?  " 

' '  I  ought  to.  I  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bed  before  '  It '  coughed  and  '  They  '  came  in. ' ' 

"You!"— the  deep  voice  was  unnaturally  full  and 
strong,  and  the  girl's  wide-opened  eyes  burned  in  the 
dusk  as  she  stared  him  through  and  through.  "  Then 
you  're  the  Boy— my  Brushwood  Boy,  and  I  've  known 
you  all  my  life!  " 

[426] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

She  fell  forward  on  Dandy's  neck.  Georgie  forced 
himself  out  of  the  weakness  that  was  overmastering  his 
limbs,  and  slid  an  arm  round  her  waist.  The  head 
dropped  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  found  himself  with 
parched  lips  saying  things  that  up  till  then  he  believed 
existed  only  in  printed  works  of  fiction.  Mercifully 
the  horses  were  quiet.  She  made  no  attempt  to  draw 
herself  away  when  she  recovered,  but  lay  still,  whis 
pering,  "  Of  course  you  're  the  Boy,  and  I  did  n't  know 
—I  did  n't  know." 

"  I  knew  last  night;  and  when  I  saw  you  at  break 
fast-" 

"  Oh,  that  was  why!  I  wondered  at  the  time.  You 
would,  of  course." 

"  I  could  n't  speak  before  this.  Keep  your  head 
where  it  is,  dear.  It  's  all  right  now— all  right  now, 
is  n't  it?" 

"  But  how  was  it  I  did  n't  know— after  all  these 
years  and  years?  I  remember— oh,  what  lots  of  things 
I  remember ! ' ' 

"  Tell  me  some.     I  '11  look  after  the  horses." 

"I  remember  waiting  for  you  when  the  steamer 
came  in.  Do  you?" 

"  At  the  Lily  Lock,  beyond  Hong- Kong  and  Java? " 

"  Do  you  call  it  that,  too?  " 

"  You  told  me  it  was  when  I  was  lost  in  the  continent. 
That  was  you  that  showed  me  the  way  through  the 
mountains? " 

"  When  the  islands  slid?  It  must  have  been,  because 
you  're  the  only  one  I  remember.  All  the  others  were 
'Them.' 

[427] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  Awful  brutes  they  were,  too." 

"  I  remember  showing  you  the  Thirty-Mile  Ride  the 
first  time.  You  ride  just  as  you  used  to— then.  You 
are  you ! ' ' 

"  That  's  odd.  I  thought  that  of  you  this  afternoon. 
Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?  Why  should  you  and  I  of 
the  millions  of  people  in  the  world  have  this— this 
thing  between  us?  What  does  it  mean?  I  'm  fright 
ened." 

"This!"  said  Georgie.  The  horses  quickened  their 
pace.  They  thought  they  had  heard  an  order.  ' '  Per 
haps  when  we  die  we  may  find  out  more,  but  it  means 
this  now. ' ' 

There  was  no  answer.  What  could  she  say?  As  the 
world  went,  they  had  known  each  other  rather  less 
than  eight  and  a  half  hours,  but  the  matter  was  one 
that  did  not  concern  the  world.  There  was  a  very  long 
silence,  while  the  breath  in  their  nostrils  drew  cold  and 
sharp  as  it  might  have  been  a  fume  of  ether. 

"That  's  the  second,"  Georgie  whispered.  "You 
remember,  don't  you?" 

"  It  's  not ! ' '  -furiously .     "  It  's  not !  " 

"  On  the  downs  the  other  night— months  ago.  You 
were  just  as  you  are  now,  and  we  went  over  the  coun 
try  for  miles  and  miles. ' ' 

"  It  was  all  empty,  too.  They  had  gone  away. 
Nobody  frightened  us.  I  wonder  why,  Boy?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  remember  that,  you  must  remember  the 
rest.  Confess! " 

[428] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  I  remember  lots  of  things,  but  I  know  I  did  n't.  I 
never  have— till  just  now." 

"Youdwf,  dear." 

u  I  know  I  did  n't,  because— oh,  it  's  no  use  keeping 
anything  back!— because  I  truthfully  meant  to." 

"  And  truthfully  did." 

"  No;  meant  to;  but  some  one  else  came  by." 

1  *  There  was  n't  any  one  else.    There  never  has  been. ' ' 

' '  There  was— there  always  is.  It  was  another  woman 
—out  there  on  the  sea.  I  saw  her.  It  was  the  26th  of 
May.  I  've  got  it  written  down  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  you  've  kept  a  record  of  your  dreams,  too? 
That 's  odd  about  the  other  woman,  because  I  happened 
to  be  on  the  sea  just  then." 

"  I  was  right.  How  do  I  know  what  you  've  done 
when  you  were  awake— and  I  thought  it  was  only 
you!" 

"  You  never  were  more  wrong  in  your  life.  What  a 
little  temper  you '  ve  got  1  Listen  to  me  a  minute,  dear. ' ' 
And  Georgie,  though  he  knew  it  not,  committed  black 
perjury.  "  It— it  is  n't  the  kind  of  thing  one  says  to 
any  one,  because  they  'd  laugh;  but  on  my  word  and 
honour,  darling,  I  've  never  been  kissed  by  a  living 
soul  outside  my  own  people  in  all  my  life.  Don't  laugh, 
dear.  I  would  n't  tell  any  one  but  you,  but  it  's  the 
solemn  truth." 

"  I  knew!  You  are  you.  Oh,  I  knew  you  'd  come 
some  day;  but  I  did  n't  know  you  were  you  in  the  least 
till  you  spoke." 

"  Then  give  me  another." 

[429] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

"  And  you  never  cared  or  looked  anywhere?  Why, 
all  the  round  world  must  have  loved  you  from  the  very 
minute  they  saw  you,  Boy." 

' '  They  kept  it  to  themselves  if  they  did.  No ;  I  never 
cared." 

'  *  And  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner —horribly  late.  Oh, 
how  can  I  look  at  you  in  the  light  before  your  mother 
—and  mine ! ' ' 

"  We  '11  play  you  're  Miss  Lacy  till  the  proper  time 
comes.  What  's  the  shortest  limit  for  people  to  get  en 
gaged?  S'pose  we  have  got  to  go  through  all  the  fuss 
of  an  engagement,  have  n't  we? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  that.  It  's  so  com 
monplace.  I  've  thought  of  something  that  you  don't 
know.  I  'm  sure  of  it.  What  's  my  name?  " 

u  Miri— no,  it  is  n't,  by  Jove!  Wait  half  a  second, 
and  it  '11  come  back  to  me.  You  are  n't— you  can't? 
Why,  those  old  tales— before  I  went  to  school!  I  've 
never  thought  of  'em  from  that  day  to  this.  Are  you 
the  original,  only  Annieanlouise?  " 

"  It  was  what  you  always  called  me  ever  since  the 
beginning.  Oh!  We  've  turned  into  the  avenue,  and 
we  must  be  an  hour  late." 

"  What  does  it  matter?  The  chain  goes  as  far  back 
as  those  days?  It  must,  of  course— of  course  it  must. 
I  've  got  to  ride  round  with  this  pestilent  old  bird— con 
found  him ! ' ' 

** '  u  Ha!  ha!  "  said  the  duck,  laughing  '—do  you  re 
member  ihatl" 

"  Yes,  I  do— flower-pots  on  my  feet,  and  all.  We  've 
been  together  all  this  while;  and  I  've  got  to  say  good- 
[430] 


THE    BRUSHWOOD    BOY 

bye  to  you  till  dinner.  Sure  I  '11  see  you  at  dinner-time? 
Sure  you  won't  sneak  up  to  your  room,  darling,  and 
leave  me  all  the  evening?  Good-bye,  dear— good»bye." 
"Good-bye,  Boy,  good-bye.  Mind  the  arch!  Don't 
let  Rufus  bolt  into  his  stables.  Good-bye.  Yes,  I  '11 
come  down  to  dinner;  but— what  shall  I  do  when  I  see 
you  in  the  light!  " 


[431] 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-70w-9,'65(F7151s4)458 


N2  401759 

Kipling,  R- 
The  day's 
work* 


D33 
1898 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


